


Old Knots

by DirigibleDetective



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 61,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4507863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirigibleDetective/pseuds/DirigibleDetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out, soon-to-be Inquisitor Sigrid Trevelyan was… "acquainted" with The Iron Bull prior to their meeting on the Storm Coast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Deep down, Sigrid was a decent person.

Very, very deep down.

But before you could ever discover that, there were a multitude of other layers to peel off.

She was vulgar, untamed, perpetually angry, the disgraced eldest daughter of Bann Trevelyan and the terror of all Ostwick.

She’d once been dumped quite publicly and spectacularly and had retaliated by revenge-fucking a Qunari in the closest chantry cathedral.

And now that same damned Qunari was grinning down at her in the pouring rain, still splattered with the blood of Tevinter mercenaries while his men systematically executed any survivors at their feet.

“Siggy.”

“Fuck me.”

“I can do that.”

“Fuck _you_ , you giant cow.”

“I see you haven’t changed a bit.”

“I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“With everything that’s happened to you recently, is this really the most shocking?”

“It’s pretty fucking close.” Sigrid wiped the blood off her sword and resheathed it none too gently. She left The Iron Fucking Bull chuckling to himself as she turned to check on the rest of her own party. Sera was standing behind her giggling shamelessly, clearly having correctly assumed the nature of Sigrid and The Iron Bull’s prior knowledge of each other. Blackwall was sitting on a driftwood log, methodically cleaning his own sword but apparently unharmed. Vivienne stood at a slight distance, absolutely flawless as usual and gazing at The Iron Bull with a look that was either distaste or fascination. Sigrid could never tell with that mage. She’d come all the way out the this fucking Maker-forsaken stretch of coastline for this, she was going to have to talk to that smug bastard after all. With a deeply irritated sigh, she turned back to the Qunari mercenary.

“So, you’re with the Inquisition?” he asked, grinning that insufferable grin.

“Not by choice,” Sigrid responded bitterly. “I have the shit luck of being the only person to survive an explosion that, at any other time, I might have been happy to witness, but I come out of it with _this_ nonsense?” She brandished her glowing green hand at him in irritation. “I didn’t ask for this shit, let me tell you.”

He laughed, a gravelly rumble that seemed perfectly suited for the rain-drench rocky coastline surrounding them. “You never really struck me as the type to get roped into a get-together like the Conclave. I recall you having a bit less… _reverence_ for holy places.”

“Oh, I was _reverent_ , certainly.” Sigrid countered. “Just not of anything even remotely holy.”

Bull laughed again, long and loud. “Say, did you really not know it was me when you came all the way out here? It wasn’t fond memories that convinced you to drag your ass out here to see us in action?”

“I knew I was meeting The Iron Bull and his Bull’s Chargers. I don’t recall names being super important at our first meeting, so no, I didn’t know I was also meeting the Qunari who-” she paused, glimpsing Sera’s eager grin from the corner of her eye. Sigrid rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t know it was you. And frankly, I don’t recall ever offering my own name, at _any_ of our meetings.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” he assured her. “But everyone and their _tamassran_ knows the name of the Herald of Andraste. Why, I hear even your father-”

“One more word about my nug-fucking father,” Sigrid began venomously, pointing a threatening finger at Bull. “And I swear to every god on this continent…”

“Alright, alright. Shit, boss.” Bull raised both hands placatingly in an effort to defer her wrath.

She stood and folded her arms over her chest. “Boss? I haven’t even said if I’m interested in hiring you yet. You’re not going to be cheap, I can tell that much already.”

Bull chuckled and leaned back, folding his immense arms behind his head and offering her an expansive, unobstructed view of his scarred, grey chest. “Aw, come on. Don’t tell me you’re sending all of _this_ packing already?”

“Ugh.” Sigrid turned away, motioning for her companions to move out. “Just meet me at Haven you enormous ass.”

Bull grinned at her retreating back. “Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

There was a particular corner in the Haven tavern that was Sigrid’s favorite. From it, she could see both doors while remaining almost completely hidden herself, the deep shadows allowing her and her mark to disappear from curious eyes for a few minutes at a time.

Silence and solitude were nearly impossible to come by now, now that Sigrid was no longer just a common sellsword, joining with and leaving mercenary bands as the whim struck. That was how she’d found herself at that thrice-damned Conclave in the first place. She’d stumbled upon some Qunari merc group in the middle of nowhere one night, and they’d offered to share their fire and food with her. She soon learned that they were on their way to the clusterfuck that was the Conclave, hired on in an effort to keep the mage versus templar brawls to a minimum. They had a good laugh together about that and then their leader asked if Sigrid might consider joining them, just for this one job. Sitting there, her belly full of fresh warm stew and a grinning, laughing group of Qunari arranged around her, it had seemed like the best offer in the world.

Then she’d watched every one of them burn up in the blast that very nearly killed her as well and left her this Fade-fucked hole in her hand that was good for killing demons and little else. She kept losing writing utensils in it, which everyone but her found endlessly amusing. Even Solas had made a quip about looking for the ever-growing pile of quills and pencils the next time he explored the Fade. She’d made a rude gesture with that very hand and left him chuckling to himself in the snow.

But for the moment, her ale firmly clasped in her _right_ hand, Sigrid sat peacefully, watching the traffic of tavern patrons from her well-hidden corner table.

“Oi, bossypants. You gonna sit there and stare at that drink or are you gonna drink it?” Sera sat heavily across from Sigrid, completely blocking her view of one of the doors. “‘Cuz if you ain’t, you oughta give it to someone who will, eh?” Sigrid rolled her eyes, but offered the mostly empty mug to the blonde elf, who snatched it greedily and drank the last of it down in one long swig. “Ugh. Tastes like shite and nug piss.”

Sigrid nodded her agreement, her gaze following the retreating back of an Inquisition scout and tracing the line of his shoulders that filled out his uniform so nicely. Sera followed her look but turned back with a conspiratorial grin. “He’s well fit, but you know who’s got ‘imself even better shoulders?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“That big giant Qunari. Say, you think he’s got any lady friends? I’d like to try one of them on for size, you know?” Sera gazed off into space, clearly daydreaming about enormous gray-skinned women.

“Well you’re free to ask him if you’d like,” Sigrid stated, signaling the barmaid for another ale. “I’m sure he’d be happy to help.”

“Wot? You’re not gonna ask ‘im for me? Thought you’d like a reason to go have yourself a lil’ chat with _The Iron Bull_.” Sera poked her in the arm teasingly. “Thought you two had a somethin’ of a _thing_ going.”

“Sera for fuck’s sake!” Sigrid exclaimed, startling the barmaid delivering her ale and causing her to spill a significant quantity of it across the table. Sigrid waved her off and cleaned the table herself, glaring at Sera the whole time. “It was _one_ time, it was in a fucking _chantry_ , and honestly, it wasn’t even that good,” she finished with a disdainful sniff.

“Well shit, Boss. Now I’m offended.” Sigrid was abruptly and unpleasantly aware of the fact that Bull himself had managed to enter the tavern and escape her notice, largely thanks to Sera’s choice in seat and the ale accident, the evidence of which was still hanging from Sigrid’s fingertips, dripping onto the floorboards. “Maybe you should let me try again, see if I do better this time around,” he finished, leaning over her with a feral, sharp-toothed grin.

Sigrid’s groan of embarrassment was drowned out by Sera’s rambunctious, delighted laughter.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *you, raising your voice slightly so the writers in the back can hear*: what is it that fic writers love the most?  
> *me, at full volume*: I'M ALWAYS A SLUT FOR FEEDBACK
> 
> But seriously guys. Thanks so much for all the wonderful feedback. It's incredibly encouraging, and totally the reason this didn't just stay as a one-shot. You guys are the best.

Sigrid hated everyone equally.

Mages, Templars, men, women, humans, elves, everyone. It really didn’t matter. She was a people person like Sera was a diplomat. So when the decision of who to approach for assistance in closing the breach fell on her, she almost said “fuck it” and disappeared into the Frostbacks. But then she realized that Leliana’s scouts would likely find her in a matter of hours and drag her back kicking and screaming, and that was a scene she wanted to avoid.

So she’d chosen what was, in her mind, little more than the lesser of two evils. And now here she was on her hands and knees outside of Therinfal Redoubt, vomiting up the contents of her stomach in the snow while hoping that no one could see her or hear her retching.

“Demons,” she muttered, trying to wash out her mouth with a mildly clean handful of snow. “Why does it always have to be demons? Fucking mind-controlling, face-stealing envy demons too.” Sigrid sat back, scooting a few feet away from the remains of her lunch, and leaned up against a convenient boulder. Various bits of her armor were scattered around her where she’d flung them in her desperation to be free of their restrictive confines. She closed her eyes and tried to suppress the shivers wracking her body, only to have them fly open again as she shot to her feet. If she had to choose between the shivers and the green-eyed version of herself that still plagued her mind, she was going to have to get used to the shivers. Not a chance in hell she was going to watch herself massacre the entire Inquisition again. Once was more than enough, thank you.

Sigrid’s mind had always been her safe haven. Through everything she’d suffered, her mind was always her own. No abuse or assault could change that. Even in the face of the most unspeakable horrors, Sigrid could always retreat into her own mind to find peace. And now it had been _violated_. Her own mind turned against her, inhabited by a demon of the most vicious sort. And Cole. Cole was… Well she had no idea what the hell Cole was, but for whatever reason, Sigrid found herself suddenly missing the reassuring presence of the strange, pale young man.

“Why do you say you miss me when I’m right here?”

Sigrid nearly leapt out of her boots. “Damn you, Cole. Is this going to be a regular thing?”

Cole tilted his head at her curiously, looking like some kind of immense bird, the way he perched at the peak of the boulder. “I hope not. I don’t like the way you feel inside. Like a calm puddle that someone’s just run through. I hope that isn’t the regular thing you mean.”

Sigrid just sighed, her shoulder drooping in acceptance. “Yeah,” she murmured quietly. “I hope this doesn’t become a regular thing either.” She began to pick up the armor pieces at her feet. “Thanks for your help, kid.”

“Oh, but I’m not the one who’s going to help you,” Cole corrected with a dramatic shake of his head. It sent the long trailing ends of his hat to flapping, which Sigrid might have found hilarious at any other time. “You thought you needed me, but you don’t. You need someone stronger. Strong mind, mind like a steel trap, mind that can help me put my own back together. See, I’m not very strong, not like that, but he is.” Cole flicked his eyes over Sigrid’s shoulder before disappearing with a puff of air.

“Usually following a trail of discarded clothing ends with something a _little_ more satisfying, Boss.” Sigrid turned around just in time to see Bull come to a halt and look down at his feet, pieces of her armor held in one of his enormous hands. “This yours too?” he asked casually, pointing down at the hole in the snow that only mostly hid her vomit.

“Oh yeah,” Sigrid replied dismissively. “But you should see the other guy. He’s somewhere around here puking up lunch _and_ breakfast.” She pointed at the pile. “That’s just lunch.”

“Wonderful,” Bull said, his tone communicating just how completely he found it to be anything but wonderful. “Wanna tell me what exactly happened in there? I get the feeling you saw a little more than the rest of us.”

“Not particularly, no,” she replied, accepting the discarded armor that he offered her as he approached.

“I really think maybe you do,” he countered, taking another casual step towards her.

“Did I ask for your fucking opinion?” Sigrid spat back, angrily and haphazardly throwing on armor. “I didn’t ask for _anyone’s_ opinion, anyone’s _help_. This was _my_ damn decision, and it’s _mine_ to live with.”

“See that’s the problem though,” Bull explained, suddenly closing the gap between the two of them and gently but firmly pushing her hands aside. His large fingers were surprisingly deft on the buckles and straps of her armor, undoing and repairing the damage she’d done in her frustration. “You _never_ ask anyone for help, not even when you _desperately_ need it.”

Sigrid was absolutely motionless, not even looking at him as he picked up her sword and buckled it across her back. It was a ridiculous thing, nearly as tall as she was with an absurd three-part handle. But he swung it over her shoulder and placed it perfectly, the handle exactly where it would be if she’d put it on herself, the front strap tightened and the buckle carefully arranged to sit just to the left of center. He was standing so close, close enough that his insistent, calm heat warmed Sigrid through all the layers of armor that encased her once more. She barely even noticed that the shivers had finally subsided.

Bull finally finished fussing over her armor and rested both hands on her shoulders. “Boss, I’m going to give you a piece of advice, and you’re going to take it,” he began seriously.

Sigrid giggled in spite of herself. “I’ve _taken_ worse from you before. What’s one piece of advice after _that_?”

“Okay, okay,” Bull laughed. “ _Two_ pieces of advice. First, don’t ever lose that sense of humor.”

“Agreed. Now give me something _bigger_. I can take it.”

“You’d better. Second, don’t be such a fucking lone wolf, Siggy. You’re surrounded by people, people who are here to help you. _Use_ _them._ Have you even spoken to Solas  _once_?” he asked. Sigrid didn't answer, but at least had the decency to feign shame. "Talk to the poor bastard. He may be about as entertaining as dirt, but he knows about the Fade, and your mark. Long story short, the people around you are there for a reason. Don't let their skills go to waste," he finished firmly, pressing down on her shoulders to make his point. “For example,” he added, his tone lightening considerably. “You’re under a lot of stress. I know one _very_ good way to relieve stress. I have a cozy little tent right outside the gates of Haven. You feel like letting off some steam, you come find me.” Bull casually kicked snow over the cooling puddle of vomit in the snow before turning back to her with a mischievous grin. “Or, you know, there’s a chantry right there if you’d-”

“Get fucked, nug-humper.”

Bull could tell she didn’t really mean it, and eventually she’d realize it too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much longer chapter today. It took me a bit longer, but hopefully it paid off!

Sigrid wasn’t about to let Bull weasel his way into her mind, or her armor, that easily.

But as much as she wanted to avoid the troublesome Qunari, he was too good in a fight to leave behind.

Which is how they found themselves fighting side by side, cutting a swath through a field of warring templars and mages, the ground around them scarred with smoking ruins and massive spires of ice. Vivienne threw a barrier around the two of them just in time to stop a trio of fireballs from incinerating them where they stood. Without hesitating, Sigrid rushed forward and cut down the first of the mages responsible, turning to charge at the second just in time to watch Bull cut the man down. The final mage was already on the ground, about a head shorter than he had been just a few seconds before.

“I had him.” Sigrid said, sticking her greatsword into the ground and stretching out her sore muscles.

“Uh huh. I just had him better.” Bull dropped his axe to the ground unceremoniously, leaning down to rummage in the pockets of the dead mage at his feet. “Hey look, more elfroot. You have enough yet?”

“What are you doing with so much elfroot anyway, my dear? You’ve never struck me as the herbalist type.”

Sigrid snatched the pouch of herbs from Bulls hand, ignoring his curious look. “It’s not for me,” she muttered, stowing it in her pack with the rest of the herbs she’d gathered as they wandered the Hinterlands.

“Wot?” Sera approached, her hands full of arrows she’d retrieved from their fallen victims, dropping to the ground to clean the worst of the gore off the shafts. “Bossypants is doin’ somethin’ for someone else? That right strange, innit?”

Sigrid ignored them all, turning instead to gaze out over the field. “You’ll have to wait to make fun of me until later,” she said, jerking her sword out of the ground and giving it a loose twirl. “Because we’ve got more company.”

“Bollocks,” Sera muttered, shoving clean arrows into her quiver and keeping the already bloody ones held in one hand. “Fuckin’ shite bastards ass-“

Sigrid stopped listening as the first of the rogue templars descended.

~~~

The camp was silent that night, Sera and Vivienne asleep in their tents, Sigrid staring into the fire, and Bull off somewhere in the trees, doing Maker-knew what. He’d been gone an awfully long time. But he was a big Qunari, and the last thing Sigrid wanted to do was give him the satisfaction of appearing to be concerned about him. Instead she wrapped her arms tighter around her legs, settled her chin down on her knees and stared bit more intently into the fire.

“You know Boss, if it weren’t already on fire, I’d think you were trying to start one with that look you’ve got there.”

Sigrid looked up to see Bull saunter back into camp, hands tucked deep in the pockets of his loose, striped trousers.

“Gee, how nice to see you again. I was beginning to think you’d found yourself some company out there in the woods.” Sigrid sniffed and turned away as he sat down beside her on the ground. “But then I remembered that the only thing out there is goats and elfroot, so…”

“They’re _very friendly_ goats, Boss.”

“You’re revolting.”

“Speaking of elfroot,” Bull began, tossing Sigrid a bundle of herbs. She caught it reflexively, then examined it with surprise.

“What is this?” she asked him. “There’s crystal grace in here, and black lotus, and… I don’t even know what the hell _that_ is, but it looks even more rare than the other two.”

"Royal elfroot,” he replied nonchalantly, leaning back on his elbows and grinning at Sigrid. She pretended not to notice. “Came across some of it out there in the woods. Thought you might like to bring it back for Adan.”

She squinted at him suspiciously, trying to gauge whether or not he was making fun of her. “And you expect me to believe that you just _happened_ to find three rare herbs right out there in the trees?”

“I was kind of hoping you would, but I guess that’s not gonna happen.” Bull shrugged. “But you _are_ gathering them for Adan. You fancy him, Siggy? He’s got some… interesting facial hair I suppose.”

“That’s… I’m not… You’re an ass.” Sigrid turned away to tuck the packet of herbs into her gear, being careful not to crush them too much. “Yes, they’re for Adan, but not because I’m even remotely interested in his rather unfortunate goatee. I overheard him talking to Minaeve about being short on herbs, so I snagged his supply list before we left Haven so I could see what I could find out here. I had to convince one of the requisition officers to show me what half of them were. Viv was right, I’m definitely no herbalist.”

Bull blinked at her dramatically. “Boss, I’m worried you might actually have a heart inside that cold, bitter chest of yours.”

“Shut up you enormous horned bastard,” Sigrid threw back, eager to move beyond any suggestion that she might care about someone other than herself. “How’d you even guess what I was really doing to begin with anyway?”

“I didn’t have to guess. I’m a spy, Boss. I know things that would shock even you.”

“I think you’re full of shit.” Sigrid turned to face him, tucking her feet beneath her and crossing her arms. “Prove it. Tell me something only a Ben-Hassrath spy could possibly know.”

Bull remained where he sat, reclined back and staring at Sigrid intently, his one eye looking at her in a way that left her feeling vulnerable and small. But she didn’t flinch, she held her ground, back straight and arms folded over her chest, staring straight at him.

“Fine. I know that you came to the Conclave with a band of Qunari mercenaries.”

“No dice. I already told Josephine all about that.”

Bull narrowed his eye at her, but kept going. “I know that you left your father’s estate in Ostwick at the age of sixteen, and managed to evade his men for an entire year before you were dragged back.”

Sigrid smirked as she shook her head. “Anyone who lived in Ostwick at the time knows that story. I made the mistake of coming back into the city, thinking I could avoid my family, only to start two tavern fires and a riot in an attempt to escape again. Obviously that was unsuccessful.”

He growled at her, a frustrated, feral noise that she found hilarious. “How about this one? Six years ago, you were caught trying to sneak into a ball in Val Royeaux disguised as a servant. But instead of facing charges, you managed to get yourself a legitimate invitation, and within a matter of days you were engaged to the young lord whose party you had attempted to crash in the first place. But since you disappeared from the city by the end of the next week, around the same time that he reported a large number of family heirlooms missing, somehow I think you got exactly what you came for.”

Sigrid did laugh at that one, digging one hand down the front of her shirt to pull out a large sapphire set on a long golden chain. “Very good, but unfortunately Leliana already knew that one. Come to find out, she was at that party…” Sigrid tucked the stone away again, grinning victoriously at Bull. “Is that really the best you can do?” she teased, challenging the irritated Qunari. “I mean, I was under the impression that you were the best the Ben-Hassrath has to offer. If that’s the case, I’m less than impressed with that entire organization.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Bull growled, sitting up to glare at her, leaning closer as he spoke. “Here’s what I _really_ know. I know that you were in Kirkwall when that apostate blew the chantry, the very chantry in which, years before, I tied you to a confessional and fucked you until you cried out to the Maker you don’t believe in.” Sigrid swallowed sharply, trying to suppress the memories that rushed by even as Bull continued speaking. “I know that when Kirkwall began to fall apart, you stayed in the city instead of leaving like everyone else. I know that you had a sister who your family managed to hide from the prying eyes of the nobles of Ostwick for just long enough to send her away. Because she was a mage, and your father was less than fond of magic and mages and just wanted to make her disappear. So he did. He sent her to Kirkwall. To the Circle. And I know that when you finally fought your way through the city to rescue your sister, what you found was not a Circle full of scared mages, but a Circle full of corpses and abominations. And I know that you left the city alone two days later and disappeared on a ship headed for Rivain. And I know that you came back almost two years later, and six months after that you fell through a hole in the sky with that mark on your hand.” Bull’s face was close enough to Sigrid’s to see the shock and pain that flashed in her eyes seconds before she cocked a fist back and punched him straight in the face. Sigrid was a warrior, and had the bulk and power to back it up. So when Bull toppled backwards, it was only partially because he allowed it.

Bull took the blow and let it knock him back, remaining relaxed and impassive as Sigrid grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the ground, her legs spread wide over his chest as she straddled him. Her teeth were bared in a snarl more terrifying than the wolves they’d faced a few days earlier, and Bull was concerned for a moment that she might do him genuine harm.

“You fucking bastard,” she growled at him, leaning in close to stare into his single, calm eye. “Yeah, I was in Kirkwall. Yeah, I lost my sister thanks to the chaos caused by that asshole apostate. But did you even _think_ for one second that maybe there’s a good reason I don’t talk about that?” She released his throat with a disgusted noise and used her now-free hand to punch him in the chest. She wasn’t holding back and her blows genuinely hurt, though Bull wasn’t going to let her see that. “I killed _innocent people_ , you festering cow. People who were scared and just doing what they thought was right. I killed _innocent people_ trying to get to my sister only to find her still-warm corpse on the ground in a room full of abominations.” Her voice took on a distant, cold quality. “I killed them too, if you were wondering.” She sat there for a moment, atop his gently rising and falling chest. Then her lips pulled back into an angry sneer again and she lunged forward to wrap her hands around the straps of his harness, lifting his shoulders just high enough to slam them back to the ground. “And _you_ , you fucking _Hissrad_ bastard, just had to _win_. So you had to remind me of all. That. _Shit_.” She punctuated the last words by pounding him into the ground repeatedly. Bull allowed her to finish before he lunged forward, sweeping Sigrid up over his shoulder and surging to his feet in one smooth motion. She huffed in shock before she began pounding on his back and kicking wildly.

“If you don’t put me down _right now_ , you fucker, I will _kill_ you.” Bull just began walking, away from the light of the campfire and into the trees.

“Not gonna happen Boss,” he stated. “We’re going to finish this conversation, but not where everyone else can hear.”

“Oh, I _wanted_ them to hear, you dung-crusted darkspawn. I wanted them to listen as I- _oof_ ” Bull unceremoniously dropped her on the ground in the middle of a small moon-lit clearing, turning away to pick up a heavy branch. He approached again as he began snapping off the twigs and smoothing away the rough burls with quick, practiced strokes of his dagger. Sigrid was confused enough that she remained seated on the ground, staring up at him.

“You’re afraid,” he began simply, ignoring Sigrid’s sniff of protest as she rose to her feet to glare at him again. “And you haven’t dealt with that fear.”

“The fuck you think I’m afraid of, you asshole?”

“Failure.” Bull stuck the knife back in his belt and hefted the stick in one hand, testing its weight.

“Like hell.”

"You failed your sister, and you're afraid you're going to fail again, but now there's even more people relying on you."

Sigrid opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again when Bull glared at her. He continued. "You didn't ask for this responsibility, but you're not one to back down from a challenge, so you're going to give this your all, even if that means your life. You don't want to fail these people, and you're afraid of how much you _care_."

She didn't argue, instead just looked at the stick curiously. “What are we doing out here? Did you just bring me out here to shit-talk me and whittle yourself a cane?”

Bull shook his head, handing Sigrid the stick to examine. “Not quite,” he explained. “It’s a Qunari thing. If I tried to explain it, it would take a lot of Qunlat words that you wouldn’t understand.”

“Well then do your best, and _please_ tell me I get to hit you with this.”

Now Bull grinned, a delighted yet menacing thing. “Now you’re getting closer, Siggy,” he said. “But I’m not the one who’s afraid.”

Sigrid looked down at the stick in her hand, the long, smooth piece of wood almost as big around as her wrist. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

“‘fraid not.” He took a step back and braced his feet. “But to be fair, I’ll let you have a swing first.” He grinned at her again. “But make it count, because you only get one.”

Sigrid grinned back, spinning the stick the same way she would a sword or an axe. “Oh, I won’t need more than one,” she said threateningly, stalking closer.

Bull didn’t just watch her face, or her feet, or her hands. He watched _all_ of her, and she could feel it. He was taking in every tiny movement she made, every predatory step, the way her eyes scanned his body for the best place to land her single blow, the way her strong fingers wrapped around the stick and held it with the perfect tension, not too loose and not too tight. Sigrid was a perfect predator, the kind who wasted no energy on unnecessary movements. Every motion was calculated and precise, and it made her deadly. Beautiful, but deadly. Or maybe beautiful _because_ she was deadly.

Sigrid tried to ignore the way Bull’s gaze followed her, the way it seemed to swallow her up, absorbing every detail and movement. But it was hard, so hard. She tried to focus on the small patch of skin between the bottom of his ribcage and the top of his belt, a sensitive spot that she knew would hurt, but her eyes kept tracking back to his face, to the sharp chin, the long, hard jawline, across the ragged scars that cut across the ruins of his eye to the wide horns that cast shadows across his shoulders in the moonlight. With a mental shake, Sigrid focused once more on the stick clasped in her hands. With a sudden shout, she swung, pouring all of her anger into the blow, her anger at the spy Hissrad, the Ben-Hassrath who had dredged up memories she had worked hard to bury. Sigrid wasn’t hitting The Iron Bull, the mercenary leader who selflessly fought at her side against whatever they faced. She was hitting the Qunari spy who knew things about her she’d never spoken of to anyone. She was hitting her own anger and fear. And she hit it hard.

Bull curled around the stick as it struck him, the blow placed precisely in the soft spot beneath his ribs. As the air rushed out of his lungs, he found himself grateful that she’d avoided other more breakable places. A hit like that would have broken a few ribs, and that wouldn’t have helped anyone. When he straightened again, he discovered Sigrid standing a few feet away and the stick resting on the ground at his feet where she’d dropped it. He looked at her seriously, waiting until she nodded before he bent to pick up the smooth piece of wood.

Bull approached her much more deliberately, with none of the consideration or aggression that she’d had. This wasn’t about him right now. This was for her, something that she needed and he was just here to provide.

His first blow hit her in the exact place she’d hit him. Sigrid grit her teeth and grunted, but held her ground. The next was a bit higher, and he heard her breath rush out between her teeth. He gave her a moment to capture another lungful of air before he hit her a third time. This one caught her high on her left hip, spinning her around and down to her knees. He knew they were done when she immediately pushed herself upright again, turning to him with clear, bright eyes. No longer were they glassy with fear and fury and violence. They still held a vague threat of violence, but that was just Sigrid, whose cool brown eyes always suggested that she was mere moments away from punching someone.

Bull dropped the stick and held out one large hand. Sigrid stared at it for a moment before accepting it, clasping his forearm as he gripped her own. “Feeling better, Siggy?”

She shook her head with a sigh. “Strangely enough, yeah.” She let go of his arm and smiled up at him, her face holding a malicious excitement that Bull found mildly frightening. “Next time you’re afraid of anything, I’ll be waiting and ready with a stick.”

“Sounds like a deal, Boss.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working up to big plot points here...

When things went wrong, boy did they go really, really wrong.

Sigrid couldn’t have just one fucking day where nothing happened. Just one day of peace and quiet. That’s all she wanted. But no. She’d closed the damned Breach today, and wanted nothing more than to sit down next to one of the many fires in Haven and get absolutely shitfaced. Maybe get laid. Andraste’s tits, she needed that.

But instead she found herself watching an army of Venatori march down the snowy slopes towards Haven while the people around her ran screaming for the Chantry. And now she was supposed to go see why Cullen’s precious trebuchets weren’t firing yet. Around her ranged the majority of her companions, Cole, Varric, and the mage who’d arrived at the gates mere minutes ago still helping herd people to safety.

The first trebuchet was manned by the slowest soldier Sigrid had ever encountered. “Keep them off me, I’m almost ready!” the woman called from where she was meticulously aiming the enormous machine.

“For fuck’s sake, woman, just fire the damned thing!” Sigrid yelled at her, trying to fight her way to the line of Venatori marksmen firing down on battle raging around the trebuchet. “There’s enough of them out there it doesn’t matter exactly where you hit, just hit them dammit!”

“Almost there!” was the only reply. Sigrid growled in frustration and dodged another arrow. One archer fell in front of her, a white and red fletched arrow protruding from his throat. Sigrid spared a quick grin for Sera before she turned to face the remaining three. Their party made quick work of the remaining Venatori after that and the useless woman finally fired the trebuchet, launching the projectile deep into the middle of the approaching force. Sigrid felt the tremble as it hit the ground, and heard the screams of those it came in contact with.

But there wasn’t time to waste. They were off and running down the snow-covered path to the next trebuchet before the first had stopped moving, only to find it unmanned and overrun with Venatori.

“I’ll aim and fire this bastard, just keep them back!” Sigrid shouted, sheathing her sword and throwing her weight against the heavy gears. Slowly, slowly, the machine began to move, a plan forming in her mind as it did. She aimed it farther and farther to the left, until it was pointing far above the approaching troops.

“Siggy, I hope you know what you’re doing!” Bull was right behind her, his broad back nearly touching her own in a brief interlude between waves of Venatori assailants. Sigrid just nodded, sighting along the wooden beams one last time before she pulled the release, sending one enormous stone fragment soaring into the mountainside far above the attacking force.

Her entire party cheered as the avalanche raced down the mountain, extinguishing flames one by one until silence reigned over Haven once more.

A silence that was broken suddenly by the high-pitched scream of a dragon.

“Time to go, Boss.”

Sigrid didn’t need to be told twice. None of them were prepared to face a dragon, and there were still refugees trying to flee Haven. She took off at a dead sprint for the Chantry.

~~~

“I didn’t come all this way just for you to drop rocks on my head!” The mage, Dorian, and Cullen were arguing in the Chantry while Chancellor Roderick labored for breath on the floor beside them.

Sigrid remained detached from the argument until the Chancellor fought his way to his feet, wheezing out a plan for an escape through the Frostbacks, a dangerous but possible alternative to certain death.

Before she realized what was happening, Sigrid had agreed to cause a second avalanche, one that would likely cause her own death and potentially cost the lives of anyone she brought along with her.

“I don’t need help,” she insisted, fighting her way to the Chantry doors.

“Bullshit,” Bull rumbled, blocking the door with his wide frame. “You do need help, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

They wasted a few precious seconds glaring at each other before Sigrid finally sighed and turned to the rest of her companions, arranged in a belligerent wall behind her. “Fine. I’m not going to order any one of you to join me, but if you absolutely insist on coming, I won’t stop you.”

She had to restrain her shock when every one of them raised a fist in salute. Sigrid shook her head, in both sadness and pride. “I can’t take you all,” she began, and quickly continued as she saw the resistance bloom in more than one pair of eyes. “Some of you need to go with the refugees, make sure they make it out. Cassandra, Cole, Varric, Dorian, and Blackwall. Think you can do that?”

They at least had the decency not to argue with her, and simply stepped back to immediately join the refugee organization. The remaining four, Vivienne, Sera, Solas, and, of course, The Iron Bull, stayed, gazing at her calmly. “You know what you’re doing, correct?” None of them even bothered to nod, though Sera did grin and reply with a cheery “Killin’ those bastards with the silly hoods, yeah?”

Sigrid grinned back at her and led their small party back into the fray.


	6. Chapter 6

The Frostback mountains were a cold, inhospitable place, a fact of which Sigrid was reminded yet again as she tripped and fell face-first into the snow. She rolled over onto her back, cradling her aching, glowing left hand with her right, trying to remember why she was walking at all, why she couldn’t just stop, why she couldn’t just sleep right here for a time…

A wolf howled in the not-so-distant distance, and Sigrid remembered suddenly why she couldn’t just stop and sleep.

She struggled to her feet once more, gazing back at the long trail of deep footprints that led back to the place in which she came very close to actually, finally, dying.

~~~

When the dragon had swept in towards them and their last trebuchet, Sigrid had ordered her companions to run. And, for the first time in a long time, they had actually listened. Bull tossed a battered, groaning Sera over his shoulder and departed with a frustrated glance back at Sigrid, Solas following with an indescribably sad shake of his head.

Sigrid was left alone to take the explosive blast of dragonfire and struggle to her feet just in time to watch the Elder One walk out of the flames towards her.

“Well you’re fucking _hideous_ ,” she began, her ears ringing and her voice echoing inside her head. She couldn’t hear his first words, the insistent ringing fading frustratingly slowly. By the time her head was clear enough for his voice to reach her, he was saying something about kneeling.

“Like hell I will.”

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not,” he replied, this monster who had identified himself as Corypheus. Sigrid watched as he brandished a large orb, and proclaimed his intent to remove the anchor. With a jolt, the mark on Sigrid’s hand began to glow, pain racing down her arm. She bit down on a groan of pain, intent on showing no sign of weakness or distress.

“It’s your fault, _herald_. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose,” he intoned, continuing to draw on the power that poured from her hand. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” Corypheus increased his assault, and Sigrid dropped to her knees in the snow, her entire left arm on fire. “And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall!”

Sigrid looked up at him from her place in the snow, her right hand clenched tightly around her left wrist as if she could halt the progression of pain up her arm by force. “I never asked for this shit. You want it back? It’s all yours you great ugly bastard.”

The next thing she knew, she was dangling by her aching, glowing arm, mere inches from the monster’s hideous face. He spoke of entering the fade, the restoration of Tevinter, seeking out the old gods, ending by assuring her that the throne of the gods was, in fact, empty.

“Well shit, I could have told you that.” Sigrid replied, unimpressed. Corypheus looked at her with disgust, and Sigrid swore that he rolled his eyes. That was the last thing she thought before he flung her bodily against the trebuchet she’d fought so hard to defend.

As her head collided with the machine and she crumpled to the ground, her vision swam, her ears ringing once more. She tried to blink away the dark haze creeping in at the edges of her vision as Corypheus continued to talk. “The anchor is permanent,” he proclaimed. “You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” Sigrid stopped listening, instead making an effort to focus very hard on the sword lying a few feet away, fallen from the hands of a slain Inquisition soldier. With a colossal effort, she lunged forward and picked it up, rising to her feet and leaning heavily on the trebuchet for support. Her vision swam and her ears were ringing again, and she watched as Corypheus and his dragon approached. The damned darkspawn’s mouth was _still_ moving, though she couldn’t hear a word he was saying.

That was when, high over the walls of Haven, a single flare rose into the night sky, the sign that the refugees were clear of the town, the sign that reminded Sigrid why she was really here. She leaned forward, brandishing the sword as steadily as possible. “You really like the sound of your own voice, you blight-fucked asshole.” With an immense shit-eating grin she spun and kicked free the release on the trebuchet, launching the stone into the mountainside above. Sigrid didn’t wait to watch the Elder One’s response but took off running, ignoring the ear-splitting scream of the dragon as she flung herself towards the crumbling, rotted boards covering the opening that she sincerely hoped led to the tunnels.

~~~

And now she was again lying motionless in the snow, feeling the fresh flakes fall and melt against her feverish skin, the howling wind doing little to drown out the howling of the wolves that surrounded her. The thought of untangling her feet from whatever it was she had tripped on seemed entirely too strenuous, and she instead stared up into the sky above. Just a few minutes ago (hours? maybe it had been hours…) Sigrid had passed a small cookfire, the coals beneath still vaguely warm. She was sure they were close, the Inquisition, her people.

Her people.

That was a strange thought.

Her, the woman who had spent a lifetime running _away_ from leadership and responsibility, was now a leader of sorts, a leader of a spectacularly diverse band of misfits. They looked up to her, called her ‘Herald’, believed that their Maker had sent her to them in their time of need.

But now she was lying alone, in the snow, on some forgotten mountainside, cradling a hand that still felt like someone had peeled all the skin off of it and occassionally spat out green sparks, and waiting to either die or be found by someone possessing more motivation that she had, whichever came first.

Sigrid let her eyes slide shut, thinking that maybe, if she just took a little nap, then she’d be able to get up again...


	7. Chapter 7

Bull restlessly paced the small camp, having long ago worn away the snow in a circle around the tent sheltering his Chargers. They’d all escaped Haven with only minor scratches, for which he was thankful, but that wasn’t enough. The moans and screams of those less fortunate barely registered with him, his mind occupied entirely by the thought of the people they’d left behind, and one person in particular.

“You’re exhausting me, Boss,” Krem muttered from where he sat on a crate, absentmindedly scraping at the blood splatters on his armor. “You going to sit down any time tonight?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Bull replied, continuing to pace. His sword and harness lay in an uncharacteristically haphazard heap beside his lieutenant, who released a long-suffering sigh.

“You know they’re organizing search parties, right? You could always join one.”

Bull just made a dismissive noise and continued to pace. He wasn’t going to be content no matter what he did. He felt like he’d personally let her down, let down his leader, his Boss. His relationship with Sigrid was complicated, and he felt, in an absurd sort of way, responsible for her. They had history of the sort that most people never had to relive, history that happens and then fades into memory with the rest of the disastrous evenings one collects in a lifetime. Theirs had been the most casual of flings, her seeking spectacular revenge and him merely being the lucky object upon which her intent settled, in the corner of the seedy bar in which they’d crossed paths. But through the course of the last few weeks, they’d grown to trust each other. They weren’t friends, not necessarily. Sigrid was too hard and too wrapped up in her own past to truly have any friends. And there was no room for friends, or whatever they were, in the life of a Ben-Hassrath. But there was a certain amount of camaraderie between them. Just enough that Bull felt like he’d made the mistake of his life by leaving her behind. And as he paced, he knew that stomping through the snow with a handful of Inquisition soldiers on what was likely a pointless search wasn’t going to make him feel any better.

But when the first search party set out, led by Commander Cullen himself, Bull picked up his sword, harness, and lieutenant and followed them out into the night.

~~~

Sigrid woke with a gasp.

Her left arm was so stiff she couldn’t move it from the protective clench against her chest, and it still throbbed painfully enough that she didn’t want to try. She sat up slowly, her head reeling and her vision going black for a brief second. She’d hit her head pretty hard, a few times, and she knew she likely had a concussion.

“Falling asleep again, bad idea…” she muttered to herself, struggling to her feet in the snow. It was nearly waist-deep by this point and was only rising as the night wore on.

She took three determined, confident steps before she tumbled forward again, unconscious before her body finished sinking into the snow.

~~~

The search party spread out in a long line, making their way down the mountain in the same general direction they’d climbed it.

Bull was at the far left edge of the line, Krem taking the next position on to his right. So when the silent qunari stopped suddenly, Krem was the only one to notice. “Boss?”

“We’re going this way,” Bull stated simply, peeling away from the group and moving farther to the left down the mountainside, following a sparse line of trees. Krem didn’t bother arguing, just followed, walking in the trench through the snow that Bull left in his wake.

“Your special Qunari senses telling you something different than the rest of us?” Krem asked, following in his commander’s footprints.

“Wolves,” Bull rumbled simply, continuing to press forward. They crested a small rise of snow to discover a pack of wolves circling a dark spot in the snow warily. Bull didn’t even hesitate before charging down at them with a feral snarl. The half-starved, wild creatures turned tail and ran, not keen to face a creature that was clearly angrier and more dangerous than they were.

Lying there, in a graceless heap half-covered by snow, was their Herald, Sigrid Trevelyan, passed out face-down in the snow.

“Ah, Siggy,” Bull muttered, bringing her limp form up to his warm chest and immediately turning around to march back towards the search party and the safety of the camp. “Glad you could make it. Wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Sigrid stirred slightly, her voice rasping out of her cold throat. “Couldn’t let you have all the glory, you giant cow.” She felt Bull’s rumbling chuckle as she sank back into unconsciousness, entirely missing the joyous shouts of the rest of the search party as they lumbered into view.


	8. Chapter 8

Sigrid was simply sitting, head hanging between her knees, on one of the many sets of steps in the fortress of Skyhold. She was exhausted, a bone-deep exhaustion that she wasn’t sure she’d ever overcome. They’d been in the largely ruined fortress for nearly a week now, and it seemed like every time she turned around she found something else that needed repair. The keep was a network of cobwebbed, debris-filled rooms, housing everything from libraries of arcane tomes to dungeon cells that were being slowly consumed by the waterfall that poured out from beneath the foundations. People were still sleeping in the courtyard because they weren’t yet sure how stable the ceilings were. An entire mountaintop castle and they couldn’t actually let people move into it. Carpenters and stonemasons were already hard at work, but it seemed like they had taken on a task that might actually be too big to handle. Sigrid found herself thinking that closing the Breach had felt less intimidating than restoring this fortress to even livable condition.

“Herald, may I have a moment?” A light but confident hand came to rest on Sigrid’s shoulder, and she looked up into Cassandra’s inquiring face.

“Yes, of course.” Sigrid rose, brushing the worst of the dust and dirt off her trousers. She’d been hauling fallen masonry for most of the morning, and the evidence was ground into every fiber of her clothing. She was really trying hard to be more sociable with all the refugees who continued to pour into Skyhold every day, a task that was not easy for her. Being sociable didn’t come naturally to Sigrid, and even choking down the sigh that had threatened to spill forth when Cassandra had interrupted her reverie had felt like a mammoth achievement. “As long as it isn’t something serious, or anything that requires me to make life or death decisions. I think I’ve had my fill of those for a while.”

Cassandra gave Sigrid a look that was equal parts wary and amused. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you then, Herald.”

Sigrid looked curiously up the stairs where Cassandra was leading her, her apprehension growing. She could see Leliana waiting at the top, holding something in her hands. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra began formally. Sigrid came to a dead halt at the top of the stairs, catching sight of the people arranged in a vast crowd below.

“Don’t you fucking do it…” she hissed at the Seeker.

“The one who has _already_ been leading it,” Cassandra finished with a grin.

“Andraste’s tits.”

Sigrid stared at the eager faces gazing up at her in shock. Every one of them gazed up at her with adoration and trust, these people who followed her so wholeheartedly that they wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice their lives in the name of this fledgling cause. Sigrid was horrified. This wasn’t what she wanted. This was all some horrible mistake, an accident, a quirk of fate that had most definitely picked the wrong person. “This, this is too much,” she muttered, turning back to Cassandra with genuine fear in her eyes. “You all think I can do this? You all seriously agreed to give this much power to _me_? A bann’s daughter with a troubled, and not exactly entirely savory, past?”

“All of these people have their lives because of you. They will follow.”

Sigrid frowned. “That wasn’t the question.”

Cassandra frowned back, one of the few people who could match Sigrid for the intensity of her glare. “I will not lie. Handing this power to anyone is troubling. But were you the worst choice? No, not at all. But I must believe that you are here for a reason.” Leliana stepped forward, offering an immense, intricate sword on her open palms. “There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you will lead, that must be yours to decide.”

Sigrid simply stared down at the sword, a rather dramatic piece of weaponry to symbolize such a serious position of power. She never wanted power, or influence, or any of that. If she had, she would have stayed at her father’s side. But she’d given all that up long ago. She was the kind of woman who started bar fights and killed people for coin, not the kind of woman who led immense political and religious movements with the power to shape nations. And now, in spite of all that, here she was. Being handed exactly that kind of power. It seemed there wasn’t any other option. She could always run, she was good at running from her problems. But that seemed like a spectacularly shitty thing to do to all these people. Because in spite of all her best efforts, Sigrid was starting to care about them, and to care whether or not they survived the bloody conflicts to come. And running away was simply no longer an option. With a long suffering sigh, she reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword, raising it in front of her face. “I’m just doing this to see that Corypheus bastard stopped.”

Cassandra nodded her acceptance. What followed was a sequence of very dramatic proclamations, Cassandra calling down to the commander and the ambassador, and the people gathered below cheering their enthusiasm for her appointment.

 _Inquisitor_. The word echoed strangely off the stone walls. It felt like it rattled _around_ her without ever truly settling _on_ her. She was no one’s Inquisitor, no one’s Herald, she was no one’s favored, chosen servant sent to save the masses from the evils of the world. She was just Sigrid. Just Sigrid. That’s it. That’s all she had to offer. Just herself. Her gaze traveled over the cheering crowd below until it stopped on a line of people at the back. Her companions, those who had fought at her side every day since she awoke in chains in Haven. Cassandra still stood behind her, but there was Solas and Varric, Sera and Blackwall, Vivienne and Dorian, Cole lingering in the shadow of The Iron Bull, who towered over them all silently. These were people who she had, against all odds, come to trust. Trust didn’t come naturally to Sigrid Trevelyan, if it ever came at all. Her relationships were based on cost and benefit. If there wasn’t something for her to gain, there wasn’t a relationship. But now look at her, standing here like an idiot, waving a sword in the air, staring out at people she was throwing away her life for. And for what? Nothing. There was nothing to be gained here, but everything, _everything_ to lose.

The idea of running passed through her mind again, but she shoved it down. Sigrid may have been the worst Herald ever, but she wasn’t a damn quitter. With a sigh she lowered the sword and turned back to Leliana, dropping it unceremoniously into the spymaster’s waiting hands. “I hope you don’t expect me to fight with that piece of shit,” she groused. “The balance is all wrong.”

“Of course not, _Inquisitor_ ,” she murmured back with a smirk. “It’s mostly for show anyway.”

“Well thank the Maker for small mercies. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she stated, turning away abruptly and heading back down the steps. “I have a scaffold to help build.”

Cassandra and Leliana watched Sigrid depart, the crowd below still chanting her name. “I hope we've made the right choice,” the Seeker worried, frowning at the retreating Inquisitor.

“Lady Trevelyan has many flaws, yes,” Leliana agreed. “But I am confident that she will serve the Inquisition well.”

Cassandra simply frowned. “Hmph. I will continue to rely on your confidence in her, since mine is rather lacking.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Andraste’s sweaty tits, we could fill an entire village with the corpses we’ve killed down here.” Sigrid hacked down the last of the most recent wave of undead assailants, turning just in time to see the horrified expressions on the faces of her companions behind her, lit by the spluttering torches of the lake-bottom cavern they were currently navigating. Dorian was looking at her like she’d just shat on a Chantry sister, Varric was just shaking his head, and even Bull was giving her a look that made her stop and reconsider her words for a moment.

“Oh. _Oh_ , shit.” Sigrid looked down at the recently re-deceased at their feet. “My bad.”

“You know what, let’s just get down there, close that rift, and then go find Hawke.” Varric said, shaking the worst of the gore off of Bianca. “She’s probably wondering what happened to us.”

“She can wait a little longer,” Sigrid argued, leading the way down into the abandoned dwarven ruins beneath the Crestwood lake. “I’d rather not have to fight corpses and look for her warden friend at the same time.”

“Yes, let’s just slaughter the rest of these drowned villagers down in this stinking slime-filled hole before we go chat with yet another of your smelly friends, Varric.” Dorian stepped delicately over a puddle whose surface was coated with an unknown, shiny-looking goo.

Bull snorted derisively as he stomped directly in the puddle the mage had so carefully avoided, splashing Dorian’s obsessively clean hemline. Dorian spluttered angrily at the Qunari, glaring daggers into his broad back. “Smelly? That’s rich coming from you, Vint.” Bull grumbled, a hard edge to his normally good-natured teasing. “Everywhere you go, you trail the scent of Vintish wine and slavery. I’ll take a dog lord any day over _that_.”

“Oh really? Let me tell you what you positively _reek_ of, you-”

“Shut up, both of you!” Sigrid threw a rock she swiped off the ground at Bull, who merely watched it bounce of his chest in amusement. “If I had wanted a fight, I would have brought Cassandra along just and listened to her scream at Varric a little more.”

“Thanks for _not_ doing that, by the way.” Varric muttered from the back of the group.

To their credit, Bull and Dorian did stop arguing, though they spent the rest of the trip down to the rift glaring at each other when they thought Sigrid wasn’t looking. She was looking, and she wasn’t amused.

With the rift in the lake finally closed, they detoured to the cave where Hawke was supposed to be meeting them before they returning to the village of Crestwood. Sure enough, there was Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, standing outside the cave throwing a stick for an enormous mabari. With a warning bark, the dog returned to his mistress’ side, growling at the approaching group until she shushed him with a soft word.

“Took you long enough,” she complained, leading them into the cave without ceremony.

“Sorry. Got distracted by a lake that kept spitting out undead.”

“I guess I can understand that. Loghain won’t be happy.” Marian laughed humorlessly to herself. “Well, he’s not exactly the cheeriest of people to begin with, but he’ll be even _more_ prickly now…”

Prickly wasn’t the word Sigrid used when she turned around to find his sword leveled at her nose. “Put that thing down, you ass. We’re here to help.” Sigrid glared down the length of the sword at the face on the opposite end. Holding it was a man who would never have the misfortune of being called ‘handsome’. His Grey Warden armor was battered and filthy, the clothes of a man who was too busy running to or from something to spare the time for clean laundry.

“It’s me, Loghain. And that’s the Inquisitor on the business end of your sword.” Marian entered the cave frowning at Loghain as he lowered his sword. “That’s _not_ how I was hoping you’d greet our allies.”

“So, you’re _the_ Loghain?” Sigrid asked, smirking as the grizzled Warden put away his weapon. “The Traitor Teryn? Oh, this is _fantastic_. For a moment there I thought our little group of misfits couldn’t possibly get more controversial. But let’s _definitely_ add you as well. Do we really even need to continue this conversation?” Sigrid asked, raising an eyebrow and looking between Hawke and Loghain. “Because I don’t care what you want from me, I absolutely plan to ally the Inquisition with the man who tried and failed to seize the Ferelden throne.”

“I’m sensing some sarcasm here,” Marian asked, her own voice dripping with scorn. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, we can leave and seek help elsewhere.”

Sigrid held up her hands placatingly. “No, no, don’t do that. I still want to hear what you have to say. I’m just so excited to add such a _distinguished_ ally to our ranks.” She sat on an only vaguely slimy rock and motioned for the Champion and the Warden to tell their story.

~~~

“A blood mage!” Varric argued, laughing. “An actual, convicted, confirmed blood mage. No rumors, just hard evidence.”

Sigrid rolled her eyes, dropping another log on the fire. Varric and Bull were trying to decide who to recruit next, which controversial ally would finally prompt Josephine to quit in a fit of despair and write off Sigrid’s Inquisition a lost cause.

“A demon. Just a demon. Preferably one of those big ones with all the lightning.” Bull leapt to his feet and mimed the lighting-whip motions of a pride demon, which set Varric to laughing so hard he couldn’t sit up straight, and even prompted a quickly-suppressed chuckle from Dorian.

“Are you two quite finished?” Sigrid asked in irritation, returning to her seat on the opposite end of a log from Bull. “If _you’d_ like to pick who we recruit, you can also take this souvenir as well,” she offered, waving her left hand in the air and releasing a few fade-green wisps. “Otherwise, shut the fuck up about my decisions, alright?”

“But _Boss_.” Bull scooted over to look at her intently, his one eye glittering with mirth. “What if we got a _dragon_?” he asked, his voice both reverent and mocking at the same time.

Sigrid narrowed her eyes at him, his wide scarred face still hovering just a handful of inches from her own. “Lame,” she finally proclaimed, turning away dismissively. “Corypheus already has one of those. I think the Traitor Teryn was more original.”

Varric snickered while Bull pouted dramatically. “Now, I’m going to bed,” Sigrid proclaimed. “ _Alone_ ,” she amended as Bull opened his mouth, undoubtedly about to make his own suggestion. “Because we have a keep full of bandits to clear out in the morning. I’d suggest the rest of you get some rest as well.” With that she disappeared into her tent, leaving the diverse trio of men around the fire to continue their debate uninterrupted.

Sigrid fell asleep just as Varric suggested recruiting a Great Bear, and she smiled in spite of herself, thinking that that might not actually be the worst idea...

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Come with me.”

Sigrid squaked in surprise and irritation as Bull caught her elbow, dragging her out of her chair along behind him through the great hall. “What the hell, Bull?”

“There’s something we need to do.”

“Is someone hurt? Where are we going?” Sigrid was confused and concerned, the sudden interruption of her evening reading leaving her less than enthusiastic about what Bull might have planned. Her confusion only grew as he ushered her into a small antechamber and gestured towards a pile of battered armor.

“Put those on,” he instructed.

“Excuse me?”

“Remember this morning, when I said I had something to show you, when you had some time?”

Sigrid vaguely remembered something of the sort. She frowned at Bull. “Mostly. But did I look like I was free?”

Bull just looked at her. “You were reading _Hard in Hightown_. You were hardly busy.”

“Fine,” she muttered, irritated that Bull had caught her reading _that_ , of all things. Sigrid shed her own clothes unselfconsciously, throwing on the weathered mercenary gear. “You better have a good explanation for this.”

Bull just grinned at her, not bothering to look away as she changed. “It’ll be worth it, that I can promise.” He led her out into the cool evening once she was finished, and sat her down right beside a pair of Inquisition soldiers. Sigrid braced herself for the awe and obeisance that usually accompanied her presence amongst the troops, and was shocked when it never arrived.

Rather, Bull introduced her as a fellow mercenary, assuring the soldiers that she didn’t speak much. Sigrid was grateful for that small fiction as the soldiers spoke of her and of their commitment to their cause. Here, in the darkness, she was no more than another soldier, just another life committed to the future of the Inquisition. She wasn’t Sigrid Trevelyan, Herald, Inquisitor, Andraste’s Chosen. She was, for the moment, Grim, a mostly mute face in the crowd. And she listened in shock as these soldiers spoke of their trust in her, their unwavering faith in their cause. These people had more faith in the Inquisition than she did. And that shook her. So when Bull rose to leave, she followed blindly, trailing after him into the warmth and light of the nearby tavern.

“So, Boss. Learn anything from that?” Bull asked, sliding a tankard of some unknown alcohol over to her. Sigrid took a long draw from it, pleased to discover that it was a particularly fine ale.

“Yeah,” she proclaimed, setting the tankard down with a clatter. “That I’m the worst possible person they could have chosen as Inquisitor.” Sigrid stared down into her drink, methodically grinding the metal base in a circle against the tabletop.

“And how do you figure that?”

 _grind, grind, grind_ “Well for starters, you could pick any spotty little teenage boy in that entire army, and he’d have more faith in this Inquisition than I do.” _grind_ “Or maybe the fact that I am _not_ the perfect, flawless pinnacle of righteousness they all seem to think I am.” _grind, grind_ “Oh, or maybe the fact that I keep sending these people out on missions that may, and have already, cost some of them their lives, and I do it all without even batting an eye, or bothering to learn their _names_.” _grind, grind, grind_ “I don’t give a shit about any of these people, but here they are, overflowing with love and loyalty for me. How fucked up is that?” Sigrid continued grinding her tankard into the table until Bull clapped his large hand down over it. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of fear and fury.

“Siggy. Stop.” She took her hands off the tankard, folding them over her chest instead. “I don’t believe for one second that you don’t actually care about these people,” he began, leaning back in his own chair. “You could have abandoned them at any point, but here you are, _leading_ them. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here.” He took a sip of his own ale, looking at Sigrid closely from across the table. “You want to know what I think, Siggy?”

“No.”

“I think you care more than you want to admit.”

“Yes, just keep ignoring me. That’s fine.” Sigrid picked up her tankard and took another sip, returning it to the table and her hands to her lap very deliberately.

“I think you care a lot, and _that’s_ why you’re angry. You’re not used to caring about anyone, and you’re afraid that it’ll make you look weak.”

“Why is it that every time I talk to you, you tell me things I don’t want to hear?”

“Because you may not want to hear them, but you need to hear them, and no one else here is going to say it to you. They’re all too afraid that you’ll hit them.” Bull grinned at her over the lip of his tankard. “We’ve already done all that, so now I can say whatever the hell I want.”

Sigrid made a disgusted noise and snatched her tankard off the table, draining it in one go. She slammed it back to the table and glared up at Bull, though her gaze lacked a significant portion of genuine anger. “Whose idea was it to recruit you anyway, you daft cow?”

“Yours Boss. And let’s face it.” He drained his own drink and deposited his tankard beside hers. “I was a _much_ better decision than that Loghain bastard.”

“That remains to be seen.” Sigrid argued, pushing back from the table and heading towards the bar. “But we can certainly debate it over another ale.”

“Best idea you’ve had all night Siggy.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter, with some graphic fight scene descriptions. Fair warning.

Sigrid hated everything about Emprise du Lion.

The terrain was a nightmare, there were red templars fucking _everywhere_ , and there was snow. She was so done with snow. Every crunching step through the knee-deep fluff rattled her more deeply than she cared to admit, the sensation of snow tumbling down into her boots bringing back unpleasant memories of one particular late-night hike through the Frostbacks…

So when she tumbled head-first into a deep tree well, the string of curses that poured from her mouth could have seared a rage demon. Sigrid only flailed helplessly for a few seconds before a strong hand seized her by her backplate and hauled her back upright. “You all right, Boss?” Bull asked, brushing a large clump of snow out from under one of her pauldrons.

“I’ll be better once we finish off the last of these lyrium-laced assholes,” she grumbled, stomping away and towards the next encampment of red templars. They were systematically wiping out their camps, making their way closer to the Keep that housed the demon Imshael. “Now come on. Let’s take back that tower.”

~~~

Sigrid realized too late that they were grossly outmatched.

This realization came to her as she tripped and fell to her knees in the middle of a growing horde of templars, among them more than one Horror and a handful of the things the men had taken to calling ‘Shadows’, monsters that had once been men and moved faster than the eye could follow.

Sigrid rolled suddenly to the side, avoiding the downward strike of an axe-wielding foot soldier, regaining her feet and punching upwards into his armpit with a dagger she snatched from his belt. She could hear the blade grind against the red lyrium beneath the man’s skin, and she thrust deeper until she felt the warm trickle of the dying man’s blood over her hand. She left him to crumple bonelessly to the snow as she threw herself back into the fight.

Bull was a short distance away, maintaining a wide circle around himself with rapid, spinning slashes. Vivienne was alternating between blasts of lightning magic and precise, controlled attacks with her spirit blade, while Sera was perched on the top of a crumbling pile of stone, firing down on the seething mass of enemies.

Just when Sigrid began to think that they might actually be able to fight their way out of this one, she felt the rumbling, concussive steps of something very, very large approaching. Her heart sank with every sound, even as she cut down one templar after the other, trying to clear a path to her allies. But there were just too many. For every knight or archer she cut down, there was another waiting to take their place. The behemoth came into view as Sigrid was ripping her sword from the torso of a Shadow, having impaled it as it tried to strike her from behind.

Bull paused in his attack on a Horror, throwing just the barest of glances over his shoulder at Sigrid before taking off at a dead run, flinging aside smaller men as he went.

“Bull!” Sigrid yelled, watching him go. “Bull, you enormous fucking prick, don’t you _dare_!”

He didn’t listen to her, instead roaring ferally as he continued his headlong rush towards the lyrium-encrusted monstrosity. Sigrid watched as best she could while desperately trying to fight her way closer to the behemoth, and so was able to spot the arrows that sprouted suddenly from the monster’s back, as well as witnessing the glow of blue as Vivienne hastily threw a barrier around Bull’s charging form. She momentarily lost sight of the Qunari as she dodged a strike from a footsoldier who looked like he was no more than sixteen.

His age stopped being relevant to her as she casually decapitated him, raising her eyes just in time to see Bull make a flying leap onto the Behemoth’s back, burying his axe deep into the creature’s shoulder and pulling himself up. Sigrid froze in shock as he pulled a long knife from his belt and drove it deep into the monster’s temple, fragments of red lyrium tumbling to the ground along with a fountain of black blood. But much to her dismay, it didn’t fall. Instead it reached one arm around and caught hold of the surprised Qunari, and then wasted no time in flinging him across the carnage of the battlefield until he came to a sudden, violent halt against the cliff face, landing heavily on the blood-soaked snow below.

Sigrid tore her gaze away from her limp comrade and the enraged behemoth, and brought all of her laser focus to bear on the slowly thinning army of red templars around her. With ruthless precision she cut them down, only half aware of the thunderous crash behind her moments later as Vivienne and Sera brought down the behemoth. Sigrid barely even registered the passage of time, pushing that sense to the back of her mind along with the awareness of her burning, fatigued limbs, the myriad scrapes and scratches she’d picked up, as well as the insistent pressure of the arrow lodged somewhere beneath her right shoulder. It wasn’t causing much harm, so she chose to leave it where it was rather than waste precious seconds pulling it out.

Then, just as suddenly as the battle had begun, it was over, and Sigrid was left standing in a clearing littered with more lyrium infected bodies than she thought possible. She blinked a few times, idly wiping her blade clean on the mostly unsullied robes of a soldier at her feet. Her eyes took in all the details around her, Sera leaping nimbly down from her perch, one last templar, his left arm severed a good distance above his elbow making a final attempt to struggle to his feet, an attempt that was cut short by an arrow loosed from a source Sigrid didn’t even take the time to identify. Because by that point, she’d caught sight of Vivienne kneeling in the snow, working rapid, nervous magic over the motionless, bleeding form of The Iron Bull, still lying right where he’d fallen.

With a cold, clinical detachment, Sigrid walked over, sheathing her sword as she approached. Vivienne spared her a brief, worried glance before turning back to her work. “I’m no healer, my dear, but I can at least keep him alive. I would suggest contacting Scout Harding and perhaps inquiring after an Inquisition healer. There must be one here somewhere.” The normally composed mage was visibly shaken, doing her best to piece together the warrior who she, The Iron Lady, had become fond of, somehow. 

“No need, Inquisitor,” the sweet, reassuring voice interrupted from behind Sigrid. “I’m already here, and I’ve sent word to one of our camps.” Harding appeared at their side, looking down worriedly at Bull. “We heard the fighting and came as quickly as we could. He really took a beating this time, didn’t he? I mean, I’ve seen you guys after some tough fights, but this one really takes the cake.” She looked up at Sigrid in concern. “Also, did you know there’s an arrow in your back?”

Sigrid blinked down at the dwarf, her awareness of the people and events around her only slowly coming back into focus. “Oh. Right. Think you could…” Sigrid didn’t even get a chance to finish before the arrow was jerked out, cleanly and smoothly, and a wad of something pressed against the wound.

“Thought I’d just take care of that, yeah?” Sera stated, looking down at the bloody arrow she now held in her hand. “Figured, arrows and all, I know what to do with that piss.”

“Thanks Sera,” Sigrid muttered, vaguely taking in Harding’s slightly horrified expression while she continued to stare at Bull’s prone form. His chest might have been moving, she couldn’t really tell. She was having a hard time picking up little details like that. Though she supposed he must still be breathing, if Viv was still working. She wouldn’t still be working if he was dead. She was still standing there when a mage in Inquisition armor arrived, politely but firmly pushing them all aside to set to work on the battered Qunari.

“All right Inquisitor, let’s get you inside.” Harding took one of Sigrid’s arms, Sera gamely seizing the other while keeping a rag pressed to the arrow wound on the Inquisitor’s side. “There’s a few rooms in the Tower of Bone where you can get some rest, okay?”

The last thing Sigrid remembered was her reluctance to leave Bull lying there in the cold snow, and a raunchy joke about ‘tower’ and ‘bone’, but she wasn’t sure if she managed to say it out loud before she collapsed face-first onto a narrow cot. 


	12. Chapter 12

Bull woke suddenly, processing a multitude of varying sensations. His head throbbed with a deep, insistent headache, there was a heavy weight resting across his lower legs, and there were sounds and smells that he didn’t recognize. Sight wasn’t exactly Bull’s strongest sense, so his single eye remained closed while he processed his environment. Most obviously, he hurt. All over, but mostly around his head and chest. He suspected that he had multiple broken ribs. He could smell dust, rot, the distinctive coppery tang of blood, and the sharp, acrid scent that he’d come to associate with the red lyrium growths. He could hear distant voices, echoing as if against stone, the high-pitched whistle of wind through a crack in the walls around him, and the very quiet sounds of someone’s relaxed breathing accompanied by the rustle of turning pages.

His silent assessment was interrupted by the sound of a door being thrown open, followed by a chiding voice he didn’t recognize. “Inquisitor! What do you think you’re doing?”

A moment of silence, followed by Sigrid’s response of “Um, reading? Did you need something?”

Bull cracked his eye open to observe the confrontation unfolding at his bedside. A slight man in the robes and armor of an Inquisition mage was standing over Sigrid, his expression incredulous and his arms folded over his chest. Sigrid was merely staring up at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

“You’re using my patient as a _footrest_!” the man exclaimed, his voice rising in irritation. Bull turned his head slightly to look and, sure enough, the weight resting on his shins was in fact Sigrid’s own legs, crossed and propped up against his while she leaned back in her chair, her book balanced in her lap.

“What?” she asked innocently, her face splitting into the shit-eating grin Bull knew meant trouble. “His legs were fine, and there’s nothing else in this shithole to prop my feet up on. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you could ask.” The healer spluttered for a moment, looking down at Sigrid like he might have something more to say if she were anyone other than the Inquisitor. Bull thought it was time he let them know he was conscious.

“You’ve got nice calves, Siggy, and they’re fine where they are, but I think they’d look better on my-”

Sigrid scrambled to her feet, dropping her book to the dusty floor as she leaned over the hard cot where he lay. “Three days unconscious and _that’s_ the first thing you’re going to try to say?”

“Good to see you too, Boss.”

“Thanks for not dying,” she said, shuffling aside as the healer bustled forward. “I’ll be back later when your mother hen is finished fussing over you.” The healer huffed in irritation, but didn’t look away from his patient. Sigrid slipped out the door, throwing one last relieved glance over her shoulder, meeting Bull’s wide, satisfied grin before she closed the thin wooden door behind her.

~~~

“You forgot this.” Sigrid’s book, a history of the ancient magisters of Tevinter that she’d stolen from Dorian, thumped into her lap. She looked down at it, then up to see Bull looming far overhead.

“You’re up!” she exclaimed, moving to stand. She’d been sitting on the edge of the short cliff that the tower stood on, looking down at the bustling camp the Inquisition had set up in what had been a bloody, corpse-strewn battlefield just a few days earlier. Bull dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder to keep her seated, carefully sinking down to sit beside her. She frowned at him. “You shouldn’t be walking around,” she chastised.

“Someone informed me that there wasn’t anything wrong with my legs,” he teased, grinning at her. Sigrid just shrugged shamelessly while Bull chuckled. “And anyway, that healer said I was basically fine by now. A little fragile, no strenuous activity for a few days, and I’ll have a couple new scars, but other than that, it was some pretty straightforward healing. Some broken bones, a dislocated shoulder, nothing too serious. No sex for a while, apparently that’s a ‘strenuous activity’. The kitchen maids will be disappointed.” Bull caught Sigrid’s angry look, her whole body rotated to treat him to the full force of her displeasure. “What?”

“I would hit you right now if you weren’t patched together with two dozen healing spells. You _fucking idiot_ , Bull. You attacked a Behemoth without _any backup_ and nearly died as a result! Also, how do you have _time_ to fuck every barmaid you meet? No, that’s not a question you need to answer.” Sigrid rubbed her hands over her face, growling in irritation. “I swear, you spend all this time telling me to care more, to let myself get close to people, so I do, I start to care about people, and then they do _this shit_. Maker’s balls, Bull, I thought you were _dead_! What would I do if you died?”

“Keep right on leading the Inquisition, I suppose,” Bull replied casually.

Sigrid did hit him then, settling for a sharp blow to his uninjured legs, a blow that wasn’t meant to hurt, but rather make a point. “No. No. Fuck you, and _listen_. I can’t do this without you, any of you! Somehow I managed to pick up the most rag-tag group of followers, but you’re all important to me, in different ways. This whole ordeal, Corypheus, the Fade, the Templars, Venatori, it’s my _worst nightmare_. Just leading the Inquisition at all is one of the worst things to ever happen to me. But somehow, _somehow_ , without me noticing, it’s _stopped_ being the worst thing. Somewhere along this line, it became something _good_ in my life.” Sigrid released a helpless laugh. “How fucked up is that? That in my entire, shitty life, _this_ is the best thing to ever happen to me? That’s horrible! But when I looked over at you lying there in the snow, I was _sure_ you were dead, so sure. I didn’t expect you to get up again. I expected to watch you die there in the middle of the Emprise du-fucking-Lion. So I didn’t watch. I turned away and I killed every single templar left in that field.” She looked down, past her feet folded beneath her at the packed snow below them. “Right there,” she said, pointing. “You were lying right there, trying to die, while I slaughtered red templars because I thought that somehow, for whatever reason, that would make losing one of my people more bearable.” She looked up at him. “It didn’t, in case you were wondering.”

“Well, you didn’t lose me, I’m still here.” Bull cautiously rested one scarred hand on her leg, his palm warm in contrast to the bitingly cold air around them. He looked down at her, while her eyes were locked on the ground far beneath where they sat. “Siggy. Look at me.” His voice held a note of command that she followed instinctively, looking up to meet his wide, honest face. “It’s not fucked up. What you’ve done with this Inquisition, it’s not horrible. You’ve made something out of this little organization, helped shape it into a power that can affect the future of the entire continent. You might not have wanted any of this, but you’ve done a good job with it anyway. You should be proud of yourself. You might’ve had a shitty life up until now, but you want to know what I think, Boss? I think you’ve made it into something that matters.”

Sigrid sighed heavily, feeling a little bit of the weight lift from her chest. “Of all the people who could have been my voice of reason, I never would have picked the Qunari spy I had a one-night stand with in a Chantry.”

“Technically, it was mid-afternoon, but…”

“Yes, thanks for reminding me.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, Sigrid still staring down the cliff, Bull staring at Sigrid. Eventually he broke the silence. “Hey Boss?”

“Yeah?”

“The snow is soaking through my pants.”

“Oh. Sorry. I had Solas enchant mine before I left so that wouldn’t happen.”

“You convinced Solas to... enchant... your... pants? You trying to tell me something Boss?”

“No, he literally enchanted my pants to be waterproof. It’s really fucking cool. Living as an apostate, apparently he learned some practical magic too. I’ll have him do yours when we get back.”

“You’re the best, Boss.”

“Don’t mention it. I mean, it’s not like you need help getting anyone into your pants, but if it means I can go around telling everyone that Solas is ‘enchanting Bull’s pants’, I will absolutely do that for you.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Much had happened since the events of the Emprise. They’d fought their way through a snowy keep to the stronghold of a particularly obnoxious demon. _“Virgins? What the fuck am I supposed to do with virgins? Those are useless.”_ They’d ventured to the Shrine of Dumat, where they’d... _acquired_ a Venatori magister with a wealth of information about Calpernia herself, who was also unfortunately trapped in a rather small magical bubble. Leliana’s agents were doing their best to find a way to get him out while also gathering as much knowledge from him a possible. Then they’d clashed with another magister in the Western Approach, following the lead provided by Hawke and Loghain, and learned that Grey Wardens were being corrupted by Corypheus himself and were murdering their own in a blood magic ritual to summon and bind demons. Sigrid had been busy, and she was tired. So, so tired.

She was draped over the throne at the head of the great hall, not because she needed to, but because it really was the most comfortable seat in the house. She’d had an enormous carved wood Ferelden monstrosity brought in, it’s seat draped with furs and its arms wide enough for her to throw her legs over one of them while she read.

Sigrid was thus occupied, reading another of Varric’s trashy serials in full view of everyone in the hall when Bull came running in through the doors, charging down the hall towards her at full speed. It had been a few weeks since his near-death encounter in the Emprise, and he’d healed miraculously. Or so the kitchen maids implied.

“BOSS!” he yelled, not halting at the base of the stairs, instead bounding up them to skid to a halt right in front of her. “Boss. Amazing news.”

“You’re not the father,” Sigrid deadpanned, not bothering to look up from her book.

“ _Dragons_ ,” he breathed, completely ignoring her jab.

Sigrid just sighed, turning her page. “Yes, we’re all aware of your fascination with dragons. Now can I get back to my book? It’s just getting good.”

Bull looked at the cover and shook his head. “You know Boss, if you want the real thing, all you have to do is ask. I think I can do better than a book…”

Sigrid closed her book with a thump and hit him with it. “What is it you want, Bull? You seem to have something against literacy, is that it?”

“No, Boss, I want you to come fight a dragon with me.” He grinned at her, all shiny pointed teeth and the enthusiasm of an enormous puppy.

“And why would I do that?”

“You remember that one up in the Hinterlands? The one that we stumbled upon and nearly got burnt to a crisp trying to dodge? Well it’s taken to burning villages outside it’s little valley, and they sent someone here to ask us to kill it. Can we, Siggy? _Please_?”

Sigrid narrowed her eyes and looked at Bull carefully. She’d received word just that morning about the dragon, and heard the villagers’ request. Josephine had brought it to her personally, with the encouragement that it would make her look good with the common folk if she herself responded to a request from a minor, outlying village. She’d thought about it for a moment and then instructed a confused but obliging ambassador not to breathe a word of the message to anyone else. Sigrid had quickly but quietly organized everyone except Bull to leave that afternoon, and then had planted herself here to wait. It was a chance to see just how closely the Ben-Hassrath was monitoring the Inquisition’s messages, because Sigrid was positive that Bull wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of fighting a dragon.

Finally she gave in, with Bull standing in front of her quite literally bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Sigrid burst out laughing and stood from her throne. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she looked up at a slightly confused Bull. “Oh man, that was definitely worth the wait. I’ve known about the dragon since this morning. I’ve just been waiting here to see how quickly you’d hear about it. Andraste’s ass, that was satisfying. I can die happy, knowing I managed to play even the smallest of pranks on the Ben-Hassrath.” She affectionately slapped Bull’s chest as she walked down the steps. “Let’s go, Bull. Sera and Solas are already waiting for us.”

~~~

Sigrid and Bull roared into a tavern that night, still covered in dragon’s blood and riding the adrenaline high of their victory over the Fereldan Frostback. Bull produced two mugs and a dark bottle of something, dropping them on the bar in front of Sigrid and confidently pouring a generous portion for each of them.

“What exactly am I drinking now?” Sigrid asked, peering cautiously at the contents of her mug.

“ _Maraas-lok_.” Bull proclaimed, taking a deep draft of his own.

“And what does that mean?”

“It means _drink_!” Bull motioned for Sigrid to drink, so she shrugged and obliged him. It tasted like she’d poured liquid fire and piss straight down her throat. She choked on it, slamming her mug down on the counter and fighting for breath. Bull laughed and poured more into her mug.

“Ahhh, Boss. That was the best. To killing a High Dragon!” he proclaimed, raising his glass in the air. “The fire, and the way it landed, and that moment when Solas almost got incinerated by a fireball. _Taarsidath-an halsaam_!” he finished, taking another swig.

“You screamed that at the dragon too. What does it mean?” Sigrid took another sip of the terrifying alcohol, choking again, albeit slightly less violently. It apparently got easier to drink the more of it you consumed.

“ _Taarsidath-an halsaam_? Uh, closest translation would be along the lines of ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking of this with great respect’.” Bull explained to her, refilling her mug.

“You yelled _that_ at a dragon? You’re fucking nuts.”

“Yeah!” Bull rumbled, emptying his mug again. His speech was growing progressively less controlled, more boisterous than usual and with less of the careful meter it usually had. Sigrid prodded him for more information on his fascination with dragons, why Qunari treated them with such reverence, and cautiously drank more and more of the fiery liquor. She was getting well and truly drunk, something she hadn’t managed to do since this whole thing had started. She was getting drunk remarkably quickly too, the Qunari liquor significantly stronger than anything she was sued to. She was already feeling a little fuzzy, her awareness of anything beyond the bar beneath her hands and the blazing heat of Bull at her side fading away. It felt good to let go a little, to take a few minutes to not be in charge. She drained the last of the maraas-lok, looking down in vague sadness when she realized her mug was empty. Again.

“Have another drink!” Bull practically shouted to the entire bar, splitting the last of the bottle between them. “To dragons!” he proclaimed, raising his mug. Sigrid looked up at him, suddenly realizing that she’d begun to list sideways, leaning heavily against Bull’s warm, solid arm. He hadn’t mentioned it, and Sigrid hadn’t noticed, just pressing her face against his arm.

“To The Iron Bull,” she added, raising her own mug.

“And his ass-kicking Inquisitor!” he finished, and they drained the last of it together, choking in unison for a moment. Sigrid dropped her mug to the counter and her chin to Bull’s forearm where it rested on the bar, certain that should she try to stand, she’d promptly fall over.

“Hey, hey Siggy,” Bull began leaning over her slightly. Sigrid raised her eyes to meet his, where he looked down at her with some fondness. “I always wanted to say this, and I never can when we’re off saving the world.” He paused for a second, staring right at her. “You’ve got fantastic tits.”

“Awww,” Sigrid cooed, a very out-of-character sound. She grinned and reached up with one hand to pat Bull’s firm chest. “So do you, Bull. So do you.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still suffering from my Trespasser DLC hangover and the emotional wreckage that it left me with. So have a longer chapter with some major plot points.

Sigrid’s life seemed to be defined these days by how Bull interrupted her rare, relaxing moments. She’d pulled a chair out onto the balcony of her quarters, one of the nicer perks of being the Inquisitor. She had been reading, this time a rather steamy piece from Tevinter that Dorian had loaned her, making her promise to come to him as soon as she finished so they could discuss it together. But now she was asleep, her boots discarded beneath her chair and her stockinged feet propped up on the stone railing.

She had never been a particularly heavy sleeper, too much of her life spent sleeping in less than safe places, so when the door at the bottom of the stairs opened inside, the echoing creak of the hinges reached her ears and she woke smoothly. She listened for a moment to the footsteps climbing the stone stairs, then relaxed. She remained where she was, gazing out into the mountains that filled the horizon as Bull approached the open balcony doors. “You know,” she began. “Most people at least have the decency to knock.”

“I didn’t want to give you the chance to ignore me,” Bull reasoned, leaning against the railing next to Sigrid’s feet. “I thought it would be even more rude to have come in anyway then.”

“And what exactly is so urgent that you’re going to ignore _all_ the usual social niceties to interrupt my reading? Again.”

“I’d bet my best axe that you were _not_ reading. You look like you’ve actually gotten some sleep for once. Also, you’re stealing books from the Vint?”

“Not this time. He actually gave me this one.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Well I do. Did you come here to complain about Dorian like some jealous child, or was there something I could actually help you with?” Sigrid blinked impassively at Bull, her arms folded over her chest.

He frowned back at her for a moment, then relented, looking away first. “Yeah Boss, there’s something I need. I’ve received a letter.”

“Oohh, you _are_ the father…” Sigrid teased him.

“No, a _serious_ letter, Boss. The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don’t like this Fade shit, or Corypheus, and they _really_ don’t like red lyrium. They want to join us. You. The Inquisition.”

Sigrid just looked at him for a moment, processing what he’d just told her. “The Qunari want to join the Inquisition? Like, an alliance?”

He nodded. “They’ve never made a full-blown alliance before. It’s a big deal, Boss.” Bull rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “They’ve found a red lyrium smuggling operation out on the coast. They want us to help shut it down. No army, or it’ll tip the smugglers off. Just me, you, and the Chargers.”

“You don’t seem thrilled.”

“I don’t know, Siggy. It’s, it’s been a long time.” Bull looked distinctly uncomfortable, staring out into the mountains. “I’m just used to them being over there, you know?”

“What do you think about this?” she asked him. “About an alliance with the Qunari? Do you think it’s smart to invite the people bent on world domination into Ferelden?”

“They’d be here to help you fight Corypheus, not convert everyone to the Qun. I think it could be good for the Inquisition, but I think it needs to be your decision, Boss.”

Sigrid nodded, tapping her fingernails against the cover of her book. “Let me think about this, okay Bull? I’ll let you know soon.”

“Sounds good Boss. Thanks for at least listening.”

She just nodded again as he left, staring into the distance wondering yet again how she had wound up in this position.

~~~

“I hate rain.”

“You hate rain, and snow, and heat. Is there anything you _do_ like, Boss?” They were huddled on the edge of a cliff, staring out across the Storm Coast waiting for the Qunari dreadnought to appear. Sigrid had, rather reluctantly, agreed to an alliance with the Qunari. Her advisors hadn’t been pleased either, but had agreed that the Qunari would be a valuable asset in the fight against Corypheus. What they’d do once this was all over was uncertain, but that was something they would figure out when the time came. Now here they were, getting rained on while Gatt released the signal flare.

“I like wind,” Sigrid offered, wiping rain out of her eyes. “But just wind. Not wind _and_ rain, or wind _and_ snow. Just, wind.”

“No wonder you like Skyhold so much,” Solas mused from behind her. “There is certainly plenty of wind there.”

“There’s the dreadnought,” Bull interrupted, pointing out into the fog. “Ah, that brings back memories.” They watched as the dreadnought launched a series of fireballs into the smuggler’s ship. There was a brief moment of celebration before Bull looked across the stretch of beach to the Chargers’ position. “Oh. Shit.”

Sigrid followed his gaze, watching as a group of Venatori they’d missed in their takeover of the shore made for the Chargers. “Bull.”

“I know.”

Gatt looked over at them. “Your men need to hold that position, Hissrad.”

Bull looked down at the elf. “They do that, and they’re dead. They can’t take on that many Venatori, Gatt.”

“And if they don’t, the Venatori retake it sooner and the dreadnought is dead. You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari!” the man exclaimed, looking between Sigrid and Bull as if for her assistance. “You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth,” he finished, delivering the final blow of his argument. Bull just looked down at the man, his expression unreadable. “With all that you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already. I stood up for you, Hissrad,” Gatt pleaded. “I told them you’d never become Tal-Vashoth.”

Bull just continued to stare down at Gatt, his face neutral but his eyes holding a note of fury that made even Sigrid pause. “They’re my men,” he stated simply.

“Bull,” Sigrid interrupted cautiously, laying a hand on his arm. “You need to make a decision. We’re running out of time.” She tightened her grip on him as he tensed. The Venatori were already near the top of the hill on which the Chargers stood, and she could just see them through the fog, preparing to fight. And yet here they stood, arguing over what to do. “If we wait any longer, it won’t matter any more. We will have made a decision by not making a decision at all.” Bull turned and looked at her, all of his attention brought to bear on what she had to say. “Your men have been through so much. They survived Haven, and the trip to Skyhold, and countless other missions we’ve sent them on since this all started. Do you really want to let them die for this?” Sigrid took a deep breath. “Do you really want to let them die without you?” she finished in a rush. Bull continued to stare down at her, while Sigrid still had one hand wrapped around his wrist. “Call the retreat.”

“Don’t!” Gatt exclaimed, but it was too late. Bull had already raised the horn to his mouth a blew a long, low note. Sigrid turned and watched as the Chargers quickly retreated just as the Venatori reached their position. They were forced to cut down a few as they fled, leaving the hillside unguarded and free for the remaining Venatori to claim.

Gatt was pacing furiously, practically pulling his hair out in anger. “All of these years, Hissrad, and you throw it away for what? For this?” he asked, gesturing at Sigrid. “For them?”

Sigrid stepped forward, pointing one finger in the elf’s face. “His name is Iron Bull, you obnoxious prick.”

Gatt narrowed his eyes, staring right back at her. “I suppose it is,” he said finally, pushing past them and disappearing into the rain. They let him go, turning instead to watch the Venatori mages attack the dreadnought where it now sat, vulnerable to their attack.

“There’s no way they’ll get out of range. It won’t be long now,” Bull said simply, staring as the dreadnought began to burn, then exploded with a shockwave that they could feel from where they stood far above the blast. “Come on,” Bull said, the smallest note of sadness in his voice. “Let’s get back to my boys.”

~~~

“You wanted to talk to me?” Sigrid approached Bull where he stood on the battlements. They hadn’t spoken since Gatt’s formal declaration of Bull as Tal-Vashoth, so Sigrid had been quick to answer Bull’s summons. But before she could say saything else, the Inquisition scout approaching from behind his back drew a knife from his belt. Sigrid froze in horror, the sudden attack taking her completely by surprise.

Rather lazily, to Sigrid’s eye, Bull turned and punched the man in the face, allowing the second one enough time to throw a knife of his own, cutting deep into Bull’s shoulder before clattering at Sigrid’s feet. That man fell with a moment later with Bull’s axe buried in his chest, while the first spat out an angry string of Qunlat.

“Bull!” Sigrid exclaimed, stepping forward as the raging Qunari seized the man by the front of his uniform.

“I’ve got it!” he growled, heaving the man over the edge of the battlements. They watched him fall, crashing to the ground in the Skyhold garden, sending people screaming and running in all directions. “Yeah, yeah, my soul is dust. _Yours_ is scattered all over the ground.” He grimaced and prodded the cut on his arm before turning back to Sigrid. “Sorry Siggy. Thought I might need backup, but I guess I’m not even worth sending professionals for.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you knew they were coming,” Sigrid sighed, shaking her head. She looked at the blood steadily dripping down his arm. “Are you alright?”

Bull made a dismissive noise, waving her off. “I’m fine. I’ve hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed.”

Sigrid just raised an eyebrow at him. “Poison? Not worried about that?”

“Oh, yeah, they definitely used poison. Guess it’s a good thing I’ve been dosing myself with the antidote, otherwise I’d be going crazy and puking my guts up already.”

“Oh, well I’m glad you’re not doing that,” Sigrid mused, crossing her arms and frowning vaguely up at him. “I’m quite fond of these boots, and I’d hate to have your breakfast all over them. But as long as you’re not going to die on me, I guess I won’t worry.” She sighed, looking irritatedly at the pool of blood spreading from beneath the man lying on the stone beside them. Blood was so difficult to get out of stonework like this. “I _had_ hoped the Ben-Hassrath were just going to let you go.”

Bull let out one disdainful chuckle. “Oh, they did,” he assured her. “Sending two guys with knives against me? That’s not a hit, that’s a formality. Just reminding me that I’m Tal-Vashoth, in case I’d forgotten.” Bull growled to himself. “Tal-va-fucking-shoth.”

“This doesn’t change anything Bull,” Sigrid stated, planting her hands on her hips. “You’ve acted like a Tal-Vashoth for years, how is it any different now?”

Bull shook his head. “That was an act, this, this is real. I used to kill Tal-Vashoth, you know. Bastards who turned their back on the Qun. Now I’m one of them.”

“Bullshit,” Sigrid snapped, poking one stiff finger into Bull’s chest, stepping closer to glare up into his face. “You’re a good man, Bull. A far better person that I will ever be. Whether or not you’re Tal-Vashoth doesn’t change that. If the Ben-Hassrath couldn’t see that, it’s their loss. I’m more than happy to take their leftovers,” she finished and grinned up at him.

Bull smiled and shook his head. “Thanks Siggy. I’ll admit it’s nice to be on the receiving end of one of these pep talks for once.”

“It’s nice to not be the fuck-up who _needs_ a pep talk for once. Now go get yourself cleaned up, you’re bleeding on my battlements.” Sigrid peered over the edge and down into the garden, where Leliana was already standing over the broken body of the assassin. She looked up at Sigrid and raised her hands questioningly. Sigrid pulled her head back and looked over at Bull. “I have a body to go explain. See you later?”

“See you later, Siggy.”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a very, VERY long time. I apologize for that. Crazy work stuff, getting ready to move in a few weeks (yay!) and a really fun (not really) collection of other events. But! It's finally here. I'll try not to take so long with the next one.

Sigrid stomped back to her quarters in a remarkably foul mood. She’d just spent the last four hours with Vivienne, Leliana and Josephine, trying on dress after dress in preparation for their visit to Halamshiral. They weren’t going for _months_ , and Sigrid needed to deal with the Grey Warden problem before then, but apparently these things took time, the women all assured her.

Sigrid _hated_ them _all_. Every one of the dresses they buttoned her into was impractical, difficult to move in, and offered her absolutely nothing in the way of protection. “How am I supposed to swing a sword in this monstrosity?” she had asked, windmilling her arms against the unforgiving blue fabric stretched over her shoulders.

“And why on earth would you be swinging a sword, my dear?” Vivienne asked, holding a swatch of particularly awful yellow fabric against Sigrid’s dark skin.

“Why would I be swinging a sword? We’re going to intercept an _assassination_ , and if you seriously think that I’m going to be able to do that by playing the fucking ‘Game’, then you’ve got another thing coming.” Sigrid peeled out of the dress and dropped it unceremoniously into the pile with the rest of the discarded garments. “Find me something I can move in. Or better yet, let me wear my damn armor. I’m not some china doll you get to dress up for a party.” She snatched a robe from the pile and wrapped herself in it as she stormed out, too irritated to even put on her own clothes.

It was a long walk through the great hall, barefoot and wrapped in nothing more than a blue and gold robe, a gift from some Orlesian noble. Thankfully, the hall was largely deserted by that late hour, a few tired looking soldiers hunkered over plates of food and Varric, scribbling at his perpetual stack of papers by the fire. So Sigrid slipped by largely unnoticed, closing the heavy door to her quarters with a bang. She continued grumbling to herself all the way up the cold stone steps, moving quickly towards the warmth of the ever-burning fire and the plush rugs over the floor. But when she reached the top of the stairs, she realized that she wasn’t alone.

“No,” she said simply, glaring at Bull where he sat on the edge of her bed. “Get off. I was getting in there. I don’t want to fight a dragon, or a band of Venatori smugglers, or anyone else. I just finished fighting with Viv, Josie and Leliana, all at once, and I’m tired.” She moved around to the opposite side of the bed and threw herself onto it, her face buried in the soft pillows. The bed creaked as Bull moved off the bed and Sigrid sighed in satisfaction. But then his hands came to rest on her back and she instinctively tensed, the contact unexpected. But then they took up a gentle rhythm against her tense muscles, and she began to relax.

“How does a Qunari spy learn how to give sinfully good back massages?” she asked, turning her head to look at Bull where he stood at her bedside. He just laughed, a rumbling chuckle that she could feel through his hands.

“You learn a lot, getting to know people the way I have.”

“‘Getting to know people’, huh? What a nice way to put it.”

“I got to know you.”

Sigrid groaned and rolled out from under Bull’s hands. “You ruined it. Thanks.” Her robe wasn’t tied well, or at all, frankly, and she pulled it tighter over her chest as it gaped open. But not before Bull had caught sight of a glint of gold beneath the rich blue fabric.

He pointed one thick finger at her, grinning. “What are _those_?”

Sigrid looked between him and her own chest in confusion for a brief second before realization dawned on her. “ _Oh_.” she casually dropped the front of the robe, fully revealing her breasts to Bull’s curious gaze. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen nipple piercings before.”

Bull laughed, his eye roving appreciatively over the heavy gold rings that glinted in the firelight. Each one carried a tiny ruby, set into the lower curve of the rings. “Oh, I’ve seen them all right. But not here. Rivain, Antiva, sure. Thedosians though, not really their thing. Where did a Marcher like you pick up something like those?”

“Rivain,” she explained simply. “After Kirkwall. I took off with a pirate who had a very lovely set of her own. She convinced me that I absolutely needed to do it too. These were a parting gift.” Sigrid still sat, her mind clearly elsewhere and filled with memories of ships and seas and pirate captains, and her robe still hanging loosely off her shoulders.

Bull let her reminisce for a moment before interrupting. “Hey Siggy?”

“Hm?” She was still distant, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Bull knew her memories from that time weren’t all pleasant, and he knew that he present was more than dark enough that she didn’t need reminders of her past.

“When was the last time you got laid?”

“Haven,” she answered automatically, before shaking herself slights and glaring at him. “Not that you need to know that,” she finished, punching him in the chest.

“Boss.” Bull stared at her. “That was almost a _year_ ago.”

“I’m very much aware of that, thanks. You think it’s easy to find someone to hook up with around here when they’re all so busy bowing every time I walk by?”

“Well,” he began, spreading his hands in a gesture of invitation. “Do you wanna ride The Bull?”

Sigrid blinked in shock. “Do I… what?”

“Don’t try to convince me you haven’t thought about it, Siggy.” Bull folded his arms over his chest and stared down at where she was still sitting, bare-breasted on the bed. “It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

Sigrid didn’t trust herself to respond, so she remained silent. She’d be lying if she tried to say that she _hadn’t_ thought about it. Bull certainly seemed willing, and had communicated his interest on more than one occasion. And Sigrid knew he was good. It wouldn’t be some quick roll in the hay with a drunk soldier. It would be exactly what she needed. And it would be a low-commitment encounter. No feelings needed. Bull wouldn’t expect anything from her afterwards. She was reasonably sure that they could go on with their work in much the same way they had before. But a very loud part of her mind screamed about how foolish this was. Having sex with one of her closest companions, the inner circle of the Inquisition? That wasn’t a good idea. What if they _couldn’t_ go back to their roles, what if things between them changed for the worse? Sigrid mulled over the idea. There were so many reasons not to. It was a terrible idea.

But if Sigrid was really good at anything, it was making terrible decisions.

So it was with an inviting grin that she slipped her arms out of the robe, allowing it to puddle around her hips on the bed. “Ride The Bull, huh?” she asked, leaning back on her elbows. “You come up with that name?”

“Hmm, maybe,” he rumbled, climbing up onto the bed to join her. “Are you sure you want to do this here? I know someone set up a little impromptu chantry off the garden-” he broke off laughing as Sigrid rolled her eyes at him.

His good-natured chuckles died out as he moved up to straddle her waist, running his hands up her arms slowly until he could wrap them around her much smaller wrists. “There’s a few things we need to discuss first, Siggy.”

“Bull, what about me says ‘I’m ready for a discussion’?” Sigrid grumbled, frowning up at his scarred face.

“It’s not optional.” His grip on her wrists tightened a fraction and Sigrid pushed against him, testing. The bones in her wrists ground together as he tightened his grip even further. “You know the basics of how this works, but I want to make it very clear. What happens in here, between us, stays here. I won’t hurt you without your permission.” He leaned a bit closer. “ _Listen_ to this part please. If you want to stop, at any point, you say _katoh._ And that’s it. It’s over, we stop, no questions asked. Do you understand?”

Sigrid nodded, smirking up at Bull as she ground her hips up into his. “Yes, but I promise you won’t hear that word from my lips.”

Bull grinned down at her, all pointed teeth and feral promise. “Is that a challenge?”

“If you’d like.”

Bull reply was lost in a growl as Sigrid lunged forward with what little space she had, her hands still pinned to the bed, to press her lips to his, catching his lower lip in her teeth as she fell back to the plush blankets. The smallest drop of blood welled on his lip and he licked it off slowly, his eye raking over her face and chest as he did. He didn’t waste time with more words.

Bull freed Sigrid’s hand momentarily, lifting her hips with one hand and freeing the crumpled robe with the other. The tie that Sigrid had neglected was a beautiful thing of braided silken thread died a rich gold, with heavy tassels on either end. But now instead of tying closed the front of a robe, it tied Sigrid’s wrists together, the free end looping around one bedpost. Sigrid laughed to herself, wondering if the noble who had sent the robe as a gift ever dreamed that it would be put to such a use. She was still chuckling when Bull’s mouth met her own again, a ravenous kiss that drew every last scrap of air out of her lungs, leaving her gasping for breath as his teeth painted a trail down her body.

Bull was a fire, burning against her skin. Sigrid jerked against the restraints, unused to being denied the instinct to touch, to participate fully.

Bull was a fire, and Sigrid… Sigrid was _consumed_.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some self-indulgent fluff before I tackle the feels next chapter...

The morning sun had just barely cleared the horizon when Sigrid padded silently out onto the balcony, leaving Bull still snoring, tangled in her bedsheets. The air bit at her face, ruffling her short hair as it circled the walls of the keep. The wind here felt alive, like it was always seeking, searching, listening. Sigrid loved it. She leaned against the railing, allowing it to whip at the edge of her robe, the hem flapping around her legs. They were to leave later that morning for Adamant Fortress, the bulk of their forces already en route to the warden stronghold. She was looking forward to beating the shit out of that smug bastard Erimond, but wasn’t looking forward to what else they might find in the fortress. The rumors and intel delivered by Loghain didn’t sound good.

But for a few more hours, her time was her own. She walked to the doorway, leaning on the frame to watch the sun peek through, illuminating the naked Qunari in her bed. At first, he hadn’t stayed, leaving her quarters as soon as they were finished and Sigrid was lying limp beneath the sheets once more. Until she had, impulsively, asked him to stay one evening. And he had, to her surprise and pleasure, agreed. She’d woken up the next morning curled against his warm chest, her head pillowed on one of his arms with the other draped heavily over her waist. She’d passed the time waiting for him to wake by tracing her fingers over the myriad scars within her reach and trying to decide if she’d made the worst mistake of her life when she invited Bull into her bed that night, so many weeks ago now. Now they shared a bed most every night, and often a tent when they were in the field. And somehow, it all seemed okay. When Sigrid met this Qunari mercenary in a bar in Kirkwall, would she ever have guessed that they’d be… whatever it was they were now?

She watched him for a few more minutes before she returned to the bed, settling lightly into the soft mattress beside him. Bracing one hand on the mattress and leaning forward carefully, she kissed him, slowly and then more intensely as he began to kiss her back, his hands lifting from the bed to wrap around her waist.

“Good morning,” she murmured against his lips. “We have places to go, magisters to kill, Grey Wardens fortresses to destroy.”

“You sure know how to show me a good time, Siggy,” Bull laughed, pulling her down to lay on his chest. She looked down at his sharp face and grinned.

“I do my best.” She leaned her chin on his chest and watched him curiously for a moment.

“Something on your mind?”

“Yes…” she began, pausing to collect her words before continuing. “What, what is… Shit. What are we, Bull? What is, _this_?” she asked, gesturing between them. “Are we, is this… Maker’s balls I’m bad at this… Are we serious? Is this serious for you?”

Bull watched her struggle with some amusement, chuckling slightly. Sigrid could feel the vibrations in his chest where she lay. “I dunno Siggy, what is it for you? You want to keep this going? Make it something serious?” He ran his hands down her back

“I…” That wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. “Well I certainly don’t want to stop.” She laid her head down on his chest, breathing in his rich scent. Bull always smelled like fire, and steel, and the coppery tang of blood. He smelled like a walking battle, a smell that Sigrid found strangely comforting. She knew what to do in battle, it was this _feelings_ shit that was scaring her. “What do the Qunari do with this kind of thing?”

“Well the first thing you should understand is that sex doesn’t equal love for the Qunari,” Bull began. “Sex is just, well, sex.”

“Yeah, I’d figured that much out myself. But what if they wanted to make it serious? What changes?”

Bull tapped his fingers against Sigrid’s spine thoughtfully. “Hm. Well, some people make these necklaces out of dragon’s teeth. A dragon’s tooth, split in half, and each one wears a half. That way, no matter how far apart they are, they’re always together.” Bull’s fingers trailed lower, cupping around Sigrid’s ass as he grinned at her. “Planning to make me some jewelry, Siggy?”

“Fresh out of dragon’s teeth, I’m afraid,” she replied dismissively. “But I... I think, damn. I want this to be serious. Keep this going. Us. Can we do that?”

“You gonna announce it at your next War Table meeting? I don’t think your advisors are going to approve. Josephine likely has the perfect Orlesian noble all picked out for you already.” He began moving his hands tantalizingly slowly, drawing her robe up the backs of her legs in the smallest of increments.

“That hardly seems necessary,” she purred, pressing her lips to his warm chest. “And Josie’s more than welcome to set me up with some fancy-ass little Orlesian, as long as he’s willing to join in.”


	17. Chapter 17

Adamant was turning out to be a clusterfuck of immense proportions.

They were ass-deep in wardens, demons, and their own forces, so many Inquisition soldiers running through the keep Sigrid practically tripped on a teenager with a sword every time she ran around a corner.

And she was running around a lot of corners. Erimond had fled, setting Corypheus’ pet archdemon on them as he did. And now Sigrid and a small contingent composed of her companions, Hawke, Loghain, and a handful of loyal Wardens were racing through the fortress, dodging the dragon’s attacks and following Clarel’s coattails as she pursued Erimond.

Sigrid slid to an abrupt halt as they suddenly ran out into a vast open space where Clarel and Erimond traded magical blows. From then, things almost seemed to happen in slow motion. Clarel’s blast that sent the magister sliding along the rough stones, the dragon’s attack, Clarel’s broken, bleeding body reciting the Warden’s oath as she struck her last blow against the blight-riddled dragon.

And then, it was like time was moving entirely _too_ quickly. Suddenly Sigrid was standing on the edge of a crumbling stone precipice, the ground literally falling away beneath her feet. So she ran, even as she knew that there wasn’t anywhere to run _to_. As the stone in front of her began to crumble she looked up, just in time to lock eyes with Bull, standing safely a short distance away, yelling something, one arm outstretched as if he could snatch her from the clutches of death itself. Sigrid wished she could hear what he was saying, wished she had a moment to say something herself, but then she was falling, and all she could think about was how badly she really, really didn’t want to die here.

Falling was a strange sensation. There was a sense of timelessness to a fall, but an ever-present sense of urgency. Sigrid looked down towards the ground, and idly noted the glowing green ripples beneath her. So it was, with an idle curiosity, that she brought her left hand forward and ripped at the veil with the anchor. It ripped back, her entire arm lighting up with pain as she opened a rift larger than anything she’d opened before. But the air obligingly parted around her and she fell in the Fade, the rift snapping closed behind her without a sound.

~~~

The word ripped out of Bull’s throat in a roar.

 _Kadan_.

It wasn’t until he watched her topple out of his sight that he realized what she’d become to him.

The next time he said it was softer, barely a whisper as silence descended around them once more, the battle all but won, the magister apprehended, the archdemon driven off.

“ _Kadan_ ,” he breathed, dropping to his knees and staring down into the darkness where his love had disappeared.

~~~

It felt like falling through the surface of a remarkably still pond. There was a cool wash of something that wasn’t water, and then Sigrid was hovering, inexplicably, just barely out of arm’s reach of the ground. Straining and stretching she touched just the barest fingertip to the damp green rock, and with that contact, reality snapped back into some semblance of focus around her, sending her crashing to the ground in a clatter of armor and weapons.

“Fuck…” she muttered, dragging herself to her feet and looking around at her surroundings. Immense pieces of stone floating in the air over her head, the distant outline of what looked like a city, and the familiar swirl of an immense rift in the distant sky. “Son of a Lowtown whore.”

“Language, Inquisitor. I happen to know some Lowtown whores who would be _highly_ offended by that.” Hawke approached from behind Sigrid, and she realized with a start that Hawke wasn’t the only one who’d fallen through the rift with her. Loghain was there, as well as Solas, Cassandra, and Varric. It was like she’d come full circle, fighting alongside the three people who’d been there from the very beginning.

Together they set off in the direction of the rift, not knowing what they’d find when they got there.

~~~

There was nothing to do but sit.

So Bull sat, Sera and Blackwall on either side of him, staring at the glimmering edges of the rift the wardens had opened. Without Sigrid, there was no one to close it, and they hoped that maybe, just maybe, she and those who’d gone with her would come back out of that rift.

Things had come to a halt around them while everyone waited. The remaining wardens were huddled in a tight group, being observed carefully by the wary, weary Inquisition.

And so they sat, and hoped that their Inquisitor would return.

~~~

Out of them all, only Solas seemed delighted to be fighting his way through every demon in the Fade. He reveled in every new discovery, every spirit pining away for a lost thing, and was beyond delighted when Sigrid went out of her way to find abandoned trinkets to give to those despairing souls. It seemed like a colossal waste of time when they could have been running for the breach, but something kept drawing her back to those longing wisps.

And now, she’d led them to their deaths with the help of a spirit masquerading as the dead divine.

She stood, Hawke on one side and Loghain on the other, staring at the smaller aspect of the Nightmare. It called out, taunted them all, even murmuring at Solas in elven. Sigrid simply stood, a good distance away from the Nightmare, not attacking, not retreating, just standing. Standing and wishing she’d said so many things before she’d come here, before she’d fallen into the ass-end of the Fade for the second time. She stared at the demon even as it began to speak to her about her father, her sister, dragging her worst nightmares out of her own mind. Memories rose, unbidden, to claw at her again. Beatings that left her gasping and battered, but never bleeding, no, he was always too careful for that. Her sister stumbling back to her room in the early hours of the morning, tears streaming down her face, trying to hide the flames flickering between her fingers, Sigrid hidden in an alcove, watching silently.

“Inquisitor!” Hawke was standing in front of her, fingers wrapped into Sigrid’s armor, shaking her roughly. “Pull yourself together.”

Sigrid blinked, focusing on the woman’s brilliant blue eyes. The Nightmare was laughing at her, it’s terrible face split into a wide grin. That was enough to bring Sigrid back to herself. With one smooth motion she brought her greatsword up and over her shoulder, driving it’s blade into the stone at her feet and letting the enchantments worked into the weapon do their work. A massive crack spiderwebbed straight to the Nightmare’s feet, explosive flames leaping free and catching on the creature’s rotting robes.

The five of them made quick work of the monster after that, leaving nothing more than an immense spider-like demon between them and the rift that led back to the world where they belonged.

~~~

A small tussle broke out between a handful of wardens and a larger handful of Inquisition soldiers when one of the wardens tried to flee suddenly. Bull surged to his feet, planting himself between the two groups.

When it came to light that the man wanted nothing more than to go look for the body of the Warden-Commander, Bull assured the man he would personally lead that search. He left the square, casting one wary glance at the rift before walking back towards where the warden had fallen.

He found the woman’s body quickly, partially buried under rubble and stones that he cleared away easily. Before he carried his broken cargo back though, he walked right up to the edge of the abyss, staring down into the darkness below.

“Can’t leave me now, kadan,” he muttered, turning away to carefully pick up what remained of the Warden-Commander and carry her back to her friends.

~~~

Hawke and Loghain nearly came to blows over which one of them was more responsible for their current situation, arguing passionately over which one of them deserved a lonely death in the Fade.

Sigrid stood between them, trying to figure out a way past the demon that didn’t require someone to die for their perceived faults.

But she knew, the Warden and the Champion had a point. The only way they would get by would be if one of them distracted the creature, allowing the rest to slip by and into the rift. She looked between the black-haired rogue and the battered old warden, and knew that once again, lives were resting in her hands.

~~~

There were... _noises_ coming from the rift. Noises that almost sounded like muffled arguments, a roar, a furious scream. Bull rose to his feet, dislodging Sera from where she’d begun to drowse against his shoulder. He took a single step towards the rift before it exploded with brilliant green light, and shapes began to tumble out of it.

Varric, the Champion, Cassandra, Solas…

A moment of terrifying nothing and then... _there_. Sigrid rolled from the rift, turning and pulling it closed with a jerk of her marked hand, blood seeping from a wound in her side. 

Bull released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, seeing her, _alive_. Sera, of all people, was the first to run to her, wrapping Sigrid in an uncharacteristic hug that threw the stocky warrior off balance. Sigrid returned it with a laugh, turning from the enthusiastic elf to address the wardens watching her in confusion. “ _Where was Loghain_?” they wanted to know, what were they to do without leadership, guidance? Sigrid gave them a quality tongue-lashing, chastising them for their foolishness and mistakes, pinning the loss of the senior warden on their backs.

He watched her from the sidelines, illuminated by the myriad torches arranged around their gathering. She was commanding, and confident, and absolutely, unquestionably in charge. She had risen to accept the mantle of ‘Inquisitor’, a mantle she never wanted, but one that she had grown to fill in the last year. Bull was proud of her.

When she finally stepped down and turned away, Bull was there, wrapping her in his protective, possessive embrace. He felt her shudder, burying her face into his chest, their armor clanking and catching together as he wrapped her tighter, the metal and straps ill-suited for such intimate contact.

“Take me home, Bull” she whispered.

“Can do, Boss.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To every single one of my wonderful readers-
> 
> Thank you. You guys have made this story what it is, with your enthusiasm and encouragement. There are SIXTY FIVE of you subscribed to this fic, and that just completely blows my mind. To think that that many people want to read a new chapter the SECOND it comes out? Crazy, man. 
> 
> But seriously. Thanks. If any of you felt like following my Dragon-Age related ramblings elsewhere, you can find me on tumblr as redheaded-renegade. 
> 
> If you do follow me? Shoot me an ask, let me know how you got there, because my dash could use some refreshing right now, and I'd love to follow all you quality humans. 
> 
> Because clearly you have excellent taste in DA content.

After Adamant, the weeks seemed to fly by as they drew closer to their trip to the Winter Palace. Sigrid threw herself into her work in an attempt to avoid the endless dress fittings and etiquette sessions, directing her forces from afar as she recovered from the wounds she sustained at the Warden’s fortress. She sent Bull’s chargers out to destroy what remained of the fortress, and encouraged Bull to go with them. She could tell that the inactivity was beginning to make him restless, and she certainly wasn’t offering much in the way of diversion, falling asleep at her desk most nights, her face pressed to the stacks of reports littering its surface.

So that’s how she found herself alone in her quarters, late into the evening, glaring at the heaps of clothes, armor and weapons she’d flung around the room in irritation. “Andraste’s sweaty tits, if I sold _every single one_ I’m going to…”

“Ohhhh, shite on a stick Bossypants. You lose your favorite helmet or summat?” Sera was standing at the top of the stairs, looking around the room in vague surprise.

“No, dammit. I found the one helmet I thought I _had_ lost.” Sigrid kicked at the offending piece of headgear and it rolled across the floor. “What I _can’t_ find is what I’m _actually_ looking for.”

“Well, I’ll help you look, yeah? Then we can go, say, dump another bucket on Miss Frilly-britches.”

“I think Josie might actually kill me if we do that again.”

“Fine then. You come up with a plan while I look.” She began kicking through the piles before looking up at Sigrid. “Whatcha lookin’ for again?”

“A dragon’s tooth.”

~~~

They didn’t find a dragon’s tooth, but they did find six lost socks, a book of lurid poetry that Sera _insisted_ she needed to read, and a small gray cat hiding in one of the storerooms who ran away as soon as it was spotted. Sigrid actually hurled her recently rediscovered helmet out the door in frustration, watching in horror as it sailed over the balcony railing. Both she and Sera dashed to the railing to watch it tumble through the air, only to crash into the ground at the feet of a horrified scout. It echoed like a cannon shot as the metal crumpled against the unyielding stone, and Sigrid and Sera ducked behind the railing, giggling uncontrollably.

Ultimately it was decided that another dragon hunt was in order. Sera was tasked with luring Blackwall out of Skyhold, while Sigrid would find an excuse for her and Dorian to slip out. It wouldn’t be easy, with Halamshiral looming on the immediate events horizon, but Sigrid had decided that she needed to go _now_ , and there would be no dissuading her.

She collected the small stack of books she had to return to his personal library and set off for the upper reaches of the rotunda.

Mother Giselle, however, seemed to have other plans for her.

Sigrid listened, less than patiently, balancing the books against one hip, as the Mother began telling a complicated tale involving Dorian, some rather lurid rumors, and a letter from his estranged father.

“You know what, Mother, I was just on my way to Dorian now!” She said brightly, plucking the letter from the surprised Mother’s fingers. “I’ll just deliver this to him myself, save you the trouble. I’m sure he’ll be _delighted_ to receive some mail. Thanks!” Sigrid waved at her with the piece of paper, leaving the woman spluttering and calling after her as she marched away across the hall.

Dorian was draped disgustingly gracefully in his chair, his book angled to catch a beam of sunlight at just the right angle. Sigrid marched right up and dropped the books on his table, shoving the letter in his direction. “I need you to help me kill a dragon, I need you to come up with a good lie for why we’re leaving to kill a dragon so that my overbearing advisors will let me leave, and I have a letter for you.”

The mage didn’t even bother to look up from his book. “I’m not going if you’re going to insist on dragging that lunk of a Qunari along with us, we’ll be going to Val Royeaux to buy us both new shoes for the ball, and who could _possibly_ be sending me a letter?”

“Bull is still gleefully smashing Adamant into even smaller bits so he won’t be joining, that’s an excellent plan, and it’s from your father.”

 _That_ got him to look at her. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and held his hand out. Sigrid placed the letter in it and then waited patiently until he folded it back into it’s envelope, wordlessly lit it on fire, then dropped it on the stone floor and allowed it to burn itself to ash.

“I believe I have a better excuse for your impending departure than Val Royeaux, my friend.”

~~~

Dorian’s meeting with his father took mere minutes, and while it didn’t end poorly, neither did Dorian have any desire to linger with the man he detested so thoroughly. They rode hard for Crestwood, following Sera’s lead and insistence that she’d heard reports of a dragon in the area from one of her Jennies.

When they found it, Sigrid found herself wondering how they’d ever managed to miss it before. It was an immense purple and yellow beast, roaring its challenge at them as they approached from the hillside.

But Sigrid needed something that only a dead dragon would provide, Dorian desperately needed to hit something, and Sera was already gleefully charging down the slope at it. This dragon would serve them quite well, Sigrid was sure.

~~~

Dragons were tough creatures, and that was no less true when they were dead. They were difficult to skin, their bones nearly impossible to cut, and their teeth hellishly difficult to remove.

“And _why_ did we kill this one again?” Blackwall asked, helping an Inquisition recruit roll up the webbing of the creature’s wings. It never took long for a handful of scouts to arrive to help them retrieve the invaluable resources to be harvested from a dragon, and without fail one of those recruits would be some young man or woman who had been a farmer’s son or daughter a year ago. Now they’d be a requisition agent, or a scout, or a soldier for the Inquisition, and farmer’s kids could always be relied upon to know how to skin an animal.

Sigrid though, was digging at the jawline of the dragon, it’s immense maw propped open with a large rock. The only tooth she’d managed to free so far was one that was nearly the size of her head, and she was pretty sure that one had been loosened by Blackwall earlier in the fight. She needed something a bit more compact for what she had in mind. “I needed a tooth,” she said, by way of explanation.

The Warden tied off the bundle of webbing and turned to her where she was wedging her knife blade around the edge of a small, short tooth. “You’re tellin’ me that we killed a dragon for _one tooth_?”

“Yes. _Aha_!” The tooth dropped out of the jaw and into the dirt at her feet. It was heavy, a cool gray-white color, and just wide enough that she couldn’t quite make the tip of her finger and thumb  touch around it’s widest point. Sigrid grinned down at it in her palm, thinking of another thing that she couldn’t quite wrap her hand all the way around…

“Are we just about done here, Inquisitor?” Dorian asked, approaching with a sealed scroll. “Because I believe your spymaster knows _exactly_ where we’ve been, and this piece of paper is _positively_ bleeding with her ire.”

Sigrid groaned, staring at the proffered scroll as if it were a particularly poisonous snake. “Ugh. _Fine_ ,” she muttered, snatching it and breaking the seal. She groaned again, crumpling the missive into her belt pouch. “Apparently I’m _very_ late for another dress fitting.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No internet at home means fic writing can only happen at work, which means that fic writing happens very, VERY slowly.  
> Sorry about that.  
> But here's a little tiny teaser of a chapter while I fine-tune Sigrid's trip to Halamshiral.  
> Enjoy!

"Leliana, you're a miracle worker."

Sigrid stood in front of a full length mirror, wearing a dress that was a true masterpiece of design and craftsmanship. It married all the best aspects of both fashion and function, and Sigrid, miraculously, didn't hate it.

It was a marvel of rich red silk, simple in line and construction, it's only adornment a bodice made of finely crafted silverite armor, light as a feather and covered all over in delicate lace-like etchings. But perhaps it's most wondrous feature was the skirt, which hung with a heavy drape, due to the light yet strong chain mail that lined its interior. The entire thing though, could be pulled away at a moment’s notice, leaving Sigrid's legs free and unencumbered, clad in perfectly tailored leggings and the lower half of the same closely-fitted silverite armor. Ultimately, it was the ceremonial wear of a military commander, but unlike the ceremonial armor Sigrid was acquainted with, this was strong as well as showy.

It was beautiful, and Sigrid felt beautiful in it. She simply stared into the mirror, running the fingers of one hand up and down the sleek silk wrapped around one arm.

"Do you like it, Inquisitor?"

"I _adore_ it. And I never expected those words to ever leave my mouth when discussing a dress."

"What a relief. Now let's take it off and we'll pack it for Halamshiral."

~~~

"I hear you have a pretty new dress for the party."

Sigrid growled, straining in Bull's grasp. "Are we _really_ going to talk about it now?"

Bull ignored her. "I didn't get a pretty dress. All I got was an ugly little suit." He ran his fingers up the inside of her legs stopping just... "You know what I can't wait for, Siggy? I can't wait to peel you out of that dress, one piece at a time." He leaned down, pressing kisses up the trail his fingers had blazed. Sigrid was trembling, pulling against the silken ropes at her wrists, and absolutely blazing, her skin burning everywhere he touched her. "Or maybe I won't even do that. Maybe I'll push you into an empty room, or even just a shadowy corner, and I'll hike up that pretty skirt of yours, and take you right there in the Winter Palace." He stopped again, his breath hot against her core. "How does that sound _kadan_?"

Sigrid moaned, a mindless cry as Bull's stubbly chin scraped against the tender skin of her thigh. "That sounds-" But her answer was lost as Bull closed the short distance between them, and the farthest thing from her mind in that moment were any thoughts of dresses or parties.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for another *real* chapter, because I have internet at home again and am no longer restricted to work-only internet access. Yay!

“I’m ready to go home now. Can we go home now?” Sigrid stood outside the gates of the Winter Palace, peering in nervously. She didn’t want to take even one step farther, the milling Orlesian nobles and silent elven servants already overwhelming her, even from a distance.

“No,” came Cullen’s short response. “If I have to suffer through this, so do you, Inquisitor.”

Sigrid whined, a small thin noise that escaped from behind her closed lips.

“Come on, Siggy!” Bull exclaimed, surging up from the back of the group and pulling her bodily through the gates. “There no food out here, and I’m starving.”

Sigrid freed her arm from his grasp, irritatedly fixing her rumpled sleeve as the rest of their party swept in behind her, effectively barring any escape. “Ugh. If I have to wear a dress, the least you could do is not fuck it up, you enormous cow.”

“Ah, Inquisitor.” The grand duke approached before Bull could respond, casting a curious yet dismissive glance at the towering Qunari at her side. Sigrid had to consciously suppress her instinctive cringe as she was forced to socialize with the man as he was the only reason she was even here in the first place, a favor which she wasn’t sure she was actually grateful for. Ultimately though, Gaspard turned out to not be a complete asshole, a strong military mind hiding behind the ornate mask and the fondness for liquor.

The court however, was another matter. Sigrid detested The Game, the lies, the half-truths, the carefully worded banter. And the court, unfortunately, didn’t care for her either. It seemed every time she opened her mouth, she was treated to a look of disapproval from one noble or another. So she was more than glad when the trail of secrets and whispers she’d been following led her to the servant’s quarters, the key to which was all-too-conveniently provided by the Empress’ arcane advisor.

“I don’t trust her,” Sigrid muttered to Leliana, leaning against the wall at the spymaster’s side in irritation, glaring at every noble who even vaguely looked like they wanted to ask for a dance.

“That is a wise move, Inquisitor,” Leliana assured her, raising a single eyebrow at a passing woman’s shoes. “I myself do not trust her fully, and we share a long and complex history. The Blight certainly brings people together, but not always in the best of ways.”

Sigrid frowned to herself, tapping her fingertips on the hilt of the dagger she’d hidden beneath her skirt. “Hmph. Think we’ll be able to slip away from the festivities to look into all this?”

“Yes, though take care how long you’re gone. The court will notice, and they will not approve.”

Sigrid peeled off the wall, laughing. “Yes, because they already love me _so much_. I’m sure they’ll be _devastated_ if I disappear for a little while.”

“Indeed. And Inquisitor, while you’re snooping around, keep an eye out for letters, messages, notes sent amongst the nobles. There are many secrets hiding in these walls, and secrets can be ever so valuable.”

Sigrid grinned at the rogue. “Looking for some blackmail material, spymaster?”

“That is such an uncouth way of saying it, my lady.”

“Don’t worry Leliana. I’m sure we can find you something exciting.”

~~~

Bull had taken to the idea of finding blackmail materials among the belongings of the nobles like a fish takes to water. “What’s a Ben-Hassrath for if not spying on people who don’t know how to hide their secrets?”

“You’re not Ben-Hassrath any more.”

“Well, no, but I can still steal shit and read about secret Orlesian orgies.”

“You’re my favorite Qunari, you know that?”

“You’re my favorite Inquisitor, so that’s good.”

Sera made gagging noises in the background, and Sigrid resumed climbing up onto the kitchen table to retrieve a Halla statue hidden, for whatever reason, in the rafters. She’d spotted it while they dug their weapons out of barrels that had been smuggled into the kitchens days before, arming themselves for whatever they might find lurking in the servant’s quarters of the palace. The statues had proved obnoxiously useful in unlocking doors in the palace, and Sigrid was sure she’d have a use for them again before the night was over.

“Want me to get that for you, Boss?” Bull asked, watching as Sigrid strained for the statue.

“No, dammit.” She leaped once, attempting to knock it down, but her skirts tangled around her feet and she stumbled, nearly toppling from the table. “Oh, fuck it,” she muttered, reaching up with her sword. “Just catch the damn deer, you idiot,” she ordered, knocking the statue straight into Bull’s waiting hands. She didn’t even bother getting off the table before she loosened the waistband of her skirts and shimmied out of them, leaving her in armored greaves and tailored pants the same blood red as her skirt.

Vivenne plucked the skirt from her hands an instant before Sigrid was about to drop it on the floor, instead folding it carefully and hiding it away in a mostly clean corner of the kitchen. “You’re going to need this again later, my dear. Can’t have it getting dirty.”

“Gee thanks, Viv. Now let’s go see what we kind of excitement can find.”

What they found was a dead emissary, a dagger with the grand duke’s crest, and a fuck-ton of Venatori.

“Oh, delightful. The Venatori are even in the Winter Palace. They’re worse than roaches.” Sigrid griped, wiping the gore from her blade on the robes of a fallen mage. “And they brought a servant-murdering court jester with them for entertainment. Does anyone know what’s in the direction that harlequin went?”

“The Grand Apartments,” Vivienne offered, pointing towards a set of stairs. “I believe those will take us in the same direction.”

~~~

“Boss, Boss, you gotta read this.” Bull was paging through a stack of letters he’d found on a bedside table, his single eye skimming them eagerly. He’d been gleefully sticking scandalous letters in his pockets all evening, eager to present them to Leliana like a cat delivering a dead bird.  “The shit these Orlesians think up.” He stepped a bit closer, leaning over and around Sigrid where she was peering around a corner, scanning for more Venatori. The room looked clear, but that’s what she’d thought the last time too and then they’d been ambushed by hidden rogues the second she’d stepped out. Bull dropped his voice so that only Sigrid could hear him. “Siggy, the things in these letters. _We gotta try this_. This one, see this one right here? This noblewoman had this chair custom made, hand carved and polished mahogany, but it doesn’t have a seat so that you can-”

“Andraste’s ass, Bull, I don’t think you need to explain it to me. Especially not right now. I think poor Viv would be traumatized.” She stepped out from beneath him, heading for the hallway across the room. “Later though…”

He hummed appreciatively, following her out into the room. Sera and Vivenne followed a few paces behind, in case of another ambush and thankfully just out of earshot.

As it turned out, the ambush wouldn’t happen until they turned into the hallway, the harlequin and a small contingent of Venatori attacking from all sides. The last man fled, running from Sigrid, only to fall at her feet with a dagger lodged in his eye.

“Briala.”

“Inquisitor.” The elven woman stepped around the dead man, avoiding the spreading pool of blood with her bare feet. She spun for them a story of betrayal and family squabbles, painting the Grand Duke as the mastermind behind all of the night’s violence. Sigrid listened, sure that her skepticism was scrawled in every line of her face.

“Everyone seems to have a different opinion on who is to blame tonight,” Sigrid exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated. “And you know what they say about opinions, right?” She was met with silence from everyone but Sera, who began to giggle. “They’re like assholes. Everyone has one.”

Briala closed her eyes behind her mask, shaking her head slightly in either horror or dismissal. Either one was find with Sigrid. “How politely put, Inquisitor. If I may offer one last piece of advice? Trust no one.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Ambassador. I’ve got that covered.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: "I'm so bad at writing smut."  
> The Roommate: "But your followers would LOVE it."  
> Me: "You're right, they'd lose their shit... Fine. I'll do it for them."
> 
> One night of drunken smut writing and a beta-read by The Roommate this morning, and here you go.
> 
> This is filthy and I hope you love it.

“So, Boss, how was your dance with the duchess?”

Sigrid groaned, burying her face into the back of Bull’s coat and trying to make herself disappear entirely.

“Maker’s balls, I think I could have screamed that the duchess participated in an orgy with a dozen dog lords, a Vint, and her own brother and they would have been less horrified.” She was wedged between his back and the wall, effectively hidden from the gaze of every passing noble, and exactly where she wanted to be. “Bull, they hate me.”

“I’m sure they don’t _hate_ you, _kadan_.”

“No, I really think they do. Also I think the duchess is lying through her teeth, but we won’t know that for sure until we go snoop around the Royal Apartments.” Sigrid snaked her hand out along Bull’s ribs, dangling a key on a blue velvet ribbon from one finger. “And guess who has a key?”

Bull turned around to grin down at her, now pinned between his chest and the wall. “A key to the completely empty, private residences of the Orlesian royals?”

“Uh huh.”

“What’re you gonna do with that.”

“Well I was _planning_ to drag Sera back out of the kitchens and see if Dorian wanted to come along this time to see what kind of trouble we could get into.” She took a deep breath, her ribs pressing against the inside of the silverite plate over her chest. The armor was beautifully crafted, but even the best armor chafed eventually. She was ready to be done with this nonsense so she could take it all off.

Bull inched closer, completely trapping Sigrid against the wall. “I can think of one far more interesting thing I could get into…” he murmured, running one finger over one of the straps holding her armor on. “And it involves getting you _out_ of some of this armor…”

~~~

They crashed through the first door they found, Sigrid’s skirt discarded somewhere in the hall behind, her legs locked around Bull’s waist, arms around his neck as he pushed the door open with a bang. They stumbled into the room, dodging the door as it did its best to swing shut on them, as if even it knew that they were the last people who should be using this room the way they clearly intended to use it. Bull instantly tripped on the heavy pile rug, and Sigrid felt a moment of weightlessness as he began to fall. She laughed the whole way down as he turned with a gracefulness that seemed at odds with his bulk, taking the entirety of the landing on his own back. That left him lying helpless beneath Sigrid, who pressed her advantage and gripped his face in both hands, kissing him deeply until they were both gasping for air.

That’s when the muffled cries of help finally reached their ears.

Sigrid froze, her eyes wide and surprised.

“Uh, Boss…”

“Yeah.”

“We’re…”

“Not alone. I figured that out.” Sigrid looked up and around the room they’d tumbled into. It took her mere seconds to burst into uncontrolled laughter. “Oh, shit. Bull, oh fuck Bull, Bull, look.”

He say up and gazed around the room, then chuckled to himself. “You want to go somewhere else, _kadan_?”

“Hell no,” she shot back, pushing herself to her feet. “I want to see who else is here and if they want to join in.”

What Sigrid found was Celene’s personal quarters, furnished with only the finest of Orlesian furniture. Bull followed close behind her as she made her way up to the platform that featured the ornately carved and gilded bed. His hands brushed constantly against her shoulders, back, casually cupping her ass as she mounted the stairs. And there, neatly shackled to the bed, was a man wearing a close-fitting helm and absolutely nothing else. Sigrid and Bull stood there, over his still, shocked form. His eyes were fixed, horrified, on Bull, who shook with barely suppressed laughter at the side of the bed.

“So, kadan, what now?”

Sigrid stood there for a moment, her arms folded over her chest, staring down at the soldier. “If we let you go, will you tell my spymaster everything you know? About Celene, her plans for tonight?” The man stared at her in silence, his eyes wide and startled. The presence of the enormous qunari at her back probably didn’t help. But finally, he nodded, his eyes still roving between Sigrid and Bull. She nodded in return, then turned back to Bull, slipping one hand through the front of his coat. “See? He’s fine. I vote we make use of this lovely bed…”

“You do realize that it’s occupied, right Siggy?”

Sigrid just grinned and pulled Bull towards her, letting herself fall back onto the bed and dragging him down on top of her. “I was thinking our friend here might be interested in joining in. You know, take advantage of the opportunity that, quite literally, fell into his lap…” Bull sank down into the soft down-stuffed bed on top of her, Sigrid’s head resting right on the shocked soldier’s torso. Bull laughed and followed her down, his eye locked only on her, the curve of her breasts visible along the top edge of her armor. His fingers went to work on the straps, his missing fingers not slowing him for a moment as he began to peel Sigrid out of her layers of armor and silk. She remained cooperative, her limbs loose and languid as Bull began to loosen the laces the snaked down her back.

The soldier she was using as a pillow remained absolutely motionless, Sigrid’s head pillowed against his abs. It took Bull mere moments to toss aside the silverite breastplate and peel down the brilliant red silk that encased her chest. The bodice of the dress loosened slowly, freeing her breasts from their tight confines as the laces were undone. The still nameless soldier’s eyes slowly moved from Bull’s chest to Sigrid’s, her breasts now free and mobile, as Bull lifted her hips to decisively pull her pants off, removing her greaves and boots in nearly the same motion.

“Do you have a name, ser?” Sigrid asked, wrapping one arm over her head and around the torso of the soldier beneath her head. She turned her head slightly to look at the man, still encased in his helm. She could just see the shine of the lantern-light in his eyes, those eyes locked on her as Bull ever so slowly removed layer after layer of armor and dress.

“Al- Alphonse, my lady.”

“Oh, no need for such formalities Alphonse,” Sigrid laughed, lifting her hips as Bull dragged her smalls down her legs, only to toss them haphazardly over his shoulder. “I’m Sigrid, and this is The Iron Bull. Pleased to meet you.”

“You’re, you’re the Inquisitor,” Alphonse stammered, Sigrid’s other hand wrapping around his hips, her fingertips slowly moving closer and closer to the erection building between his legs despite poor Alphonse’s best efforts.

“Oh no, no need for such formalities,” she breathed, her voice catching as the last of her skin was exposed to the cool air around them. “Right now, I’m just Sigrid. And you’re-” her breath hitched again as Bull’s fingers suddenly pressed against her swollen clit. “Ah- you’re just… Alphonse.” She gasped again, both arms stretched above her head and resting against Alophnse’s flushed skin. Bull just grinned, focused on his task while Sigrid focused on occupying her own hands with various parts of the anatomy resting beneath her.

Alphonse was completely at the mercy of the Inquisitor and her lover, his limbs chained firmly to every corner post of the bed they all rested on. This was far from what he expected to encounter, chained up and alone in the Empress’ private quarters. But lying here, watching the enormous gray-skinned qunari sink his fingers deep into the dripping slit of the Herald of Andraste, he had to admit, this was honestly better that what he’d thought he was signing up for.

The Inquisitor panted, her hands roaming over Alphonse’s chest as she rocked against the insistent ministrations of the hands between her legs. Bull’s single, brilliant eye remained locked on her face, watching as she writhed against the pressure and thrust of his hands. Just when Alphonse thought it was done, when he thought she was mere moments from climaxing around the thick, curled fingers inside her, the qunari stopped, gripping her by the hips and spinning her around so that her shoulders rested between the spread legs still shackled to the bed.

Sigrid could feel the pressure of the erection at her back, the soldier helpless against the events unfolding around and on top of him. She ground her shoulders against his hips, the brilliant heat of his cock against her spine as Bull mounted the bed himself, shedding the tight suit pants and freeing his own erection. Sigrid was unsurprised by the size of his cock, at this point accustomed to his girth and length. But she felt the gasp of surprise echo from beneath her, and she reached up to run her fingernails along the smooth skin beneath her head. She felt the little skip, the skin beneath her nails catching raked over the prominent nipples of the soldier pillowing her head, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his own arousal.

“Alphonse,” she breathed, her own breath coming in short, desperate gasps already. “Alphonse , listen.” She rolled over, dragging herself up his body, her own sweat slicked skin sliding against his effortlessly. She gently slipped the helm from his head, freeing the loose chestnut curls that encircled his head and tossing the single piece of armor aside with a clang. “Is this okay?” she asked, her voice gentle and serious for a moment in spite of the continued movement happening between her legs, another pair of legs and hands continuing their own motions while she looked for answers in the eyes of the man trapped beneath her. He stared back at her, her rich, dark skin glowing in the lamplight, sweat dappling every inch of bare flesh. He thought for a moment, then nodded, whispering out a strained “Yes, ser,” as the Inquisitor writhed again, her breasts pressed against his chest as her lover ran his fingers across her sensitive, throbbing clit.

That was apparently all the affirmation they needed for her to dig her nails into his shoulders as the qunari thrust into her with one fluid motion, sheathing himself only halfway into her as her body struggled, as always, to accept his full length. Alphonse felt her hips grind against his own as The Iron Bull thrust into her, burying himself a fraction deeper every time. Then finally, with a sighing moan from the Inquisitor and a guttural grunt from Bull, he buried himself fully inside her, her clit grinding against Alphonse’s own traitorous erection that remained pinned between their bodies.

Sigrid went limp for a moment, one of Bull’s hands cupped around her chest and teasing gently at the gold rings shining faintly in the candlelight around them. She could feel the pulse of Alphonse’s erection pressing against her stomach while Bull throbbed deep within her, waiting a moment to let her acclimate to him before beginning a slow, steady pace, short yet deep thrusts that brought their hips together with every motion. Sigrid slipped one hand down along her own torso, closing it lightly around the neglected erection beneath her, initiating an insistent motion that coincided with the thrusts that she was taking, eventually working into a punishing rhythm that matched the pace at which her tingling clit practically collided with the throbbing length she held in her hands.

Alphonse was completely at the mercy of the couple above him, Bull’s thrusts dictating the pace at which Sigrid’s hand moved against his erection, the lucky soldier’s eyes focused completely on the Inquisitor’s chest, her breasts bouncing with every deep thrust from her qunari lover. He could feel the pressure building, sure that he would finish in mere moments, the Inquisitor’s hand sliding around his cock with every thrust of the gray skinned man at her back.

But just as suddenly, it stopped, his back arched and every muscle tense with his impending release. His own moan of desire mingled with hers as Bull paused for a moment, leaning down to pull Sigrid to him with one arm wrapped around her shoulders, turning her head for a deep, lingering kiss as he thrust even more deeply, burying himself to the hilt with every motion. Alphonse was left as little more than a spectator, watching as the Inquisitor met every thrust with her own, accepting the qunari’s entire length with an ease that spoke of experience. Alphonse watched as she tensed, her own downward thrusts becoming irregular as she tightened around him, her keening moans giving way to full-blown screams as she climaxed, clenching down and around the cock buried deep within her as she came, breathing his name as she collapsed, her head falling back against the gray shoulder that supported her now-limp form. But one hand was still gripping him, Alphonse’s cock trapped in the grip of the Inquisitor, Bull’s thrusts continuing towards his own completion, pulling light, high-pitched gasps from the lungs of the woman trapped between them. Her hands pulled Alphonse to his own conclusion as Bull came himself, ending with thrusts that sank deeper than anything else before, Sigrid gasping in desperation as she came around him again. Alphonse found his own release in her hands as Bull roared his satisfaction, pinning Sigrid between their sweat-slicked bodies once more.

They separated slowly, peeling away from each other as tense, quivering muscles relaxed, all three of them collapsing onto the plush bed in near-exhaustion. Alphonse remained where he was, the shackles preventing him from moving at all, the Inquisitor still draped over his chest and Bull sprawled across one side of the bed. Finally she sighed, rolling off the bed with one last affectionate pat of Alphonse’s chest. She dampened two rags in the washbasin, throwing the second to Bull. “Clean the poor soldier up, would you dear? Our friends should be here soon, and I’d hate for them to have to see Alphonse in such a state.”

Bull turned back to the man with a grin that left him wondering if he would actually be any cleaner in a few moments...

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

“Thank the Maker you’re-oh.” Cullen slid to a halt as Sigrid marched into the ballroom, taking in the sight of her gore-spattered clothes and the naked blade still hanging from one hand.

“Catch that conniving little bitch before she kills Celene,” Sigrid ordered him, glaring around the room for any sign of the duchess. Cullen merely stared at her in shock and confusion. “Duchess Florianne. Detain Florianne!” she commanded. Cullen nodded and dashed away, assembling a contingent of Inquisition soldiers and he made his way towards the opposite balcony. Sigrid could see Celene approaching the railing, and... _there_. There was Florianne, lurking in the shadows.

The dance floor was full of Orlesians crammed shoulder-to-shoulder, staring up at their Empress with bright eyes. Sigrid pushed through them, watching from the corner of her eye as her soldiers rushed towards Celene, intent on keeping Orlais’ rightful ruler alive. She pushed forward, ignoring the gasps of horror and fear echoing behind her as the nobles caught sight of her blood-drenched self. The red gear hid human blood fairly well, it was the demon gore that stood out. But Sigrid was beyond caring about what the Orlesians thought of her. All she had time to focus on was the woman in the shadows above her and the glint of the knife the slipped from her sleeve.

“ _Florianne_!” she called out, breaking through the front ranks of the gathered nobles. That was when all hell broke loose. With a shrill order, Venatori agents peeled out of the shadows, cutting down Sigrid’s soldiers as they fought to protect the gathered nobility. Celene was shoved to the ground and Sigrid lost sight of her for a moment, but then there was Cullen, standing between the Empress and the Duchess. Sigrid charged forward, following the woman as she dashed from the room, leaping lightly over the balcony railing and down into the courtyard below.

Sigrid followed less gracefully, landing hard and rolling in an effort to take some of the force off her legs. In reality it just left her with an aching shoulder and throbbing knees. Bull landed beside her like a boulder, the ground actually shaking beneath her feet as he hit the ground. Sera, Blackwall, Solas, and Dorian followed behind, arranging themselves around her to face the courtyard before them. Atop an ornate fountain stood Florianne, bow in hand, and Venatori rushing in behind her.

“You sure know how to throw a party, Inquisitor,” Dorian muttered, spinning his staff and leaving trails of power in the air around him.

“To be fair, someone else invited her. I just know how to make a boring party _better_.” She waited just long enough for the cold wash of Solas’ barrier to descend over her before she charged forward, leading her friends into the teeming mass of Venatori.

~~~

To her credit, Florianne didn’t make it easy. Every one of them were bleeding from a dozen cuts and scrapes, and a few of Dorian’s reanimated corpses were still running around moaning when Sigrid finally drove her sword through the Duchess and deep into the grass beneath her. She left them both there, her sword at the traitor, and limped back towards the waiting palace.

“Boss. Hey. _Siggy stop_.” Bull caught her by the shoulder, halting her determined forward march up the stairs. “You can’t go in there looking like that.”

Sigrid looked down at herself, her clothes and armor spattered with gore and soaked with blood, a good portion of which was still weeping from her own wounds. She was a terrifying sight, and that was _exactly_ what she wanted. “Like hell I can’t. _They’re_ responsible for this, Celene and Gaspard and Briala, and I want them to really see what their decisions have brought about. They’ve spent too long inside their palaces and behind their masks. I plan to get right in their faces and _show_ them the result of their fucking Game. They’re so focused on wearing the right shoes, or passing on the best whispered rumor that they forget that they’re hurting _real people_ with all their ridiculous maneuvering.” She wiped an angry hand across her mouth and it came away more bloody than it was before. “My people _died_ trying to keep their sorry asses safe, Bull.”

“I know that, _kadan_. I know,” he replied softly, settling both hands on her shoulders. “Will you at least let Solas look at your leg? You’re still limping from where you took that dagger.” He leaned down to look at her, his own face streaked with blood. “You have every right to be angry, Siggy. But if you’re going to march back in there, you need to do it like a leader, not like a lame goat.”

In spite of herself, Sigrid chuckled, dropping her head to dab at her bleeding lip with the back of her sleeve. “Fine, fine. Solas can look at my leg. But that’s all. I want to bleed all over Celene’s pretty dress.”

Bull chuckled as well, pressing a mindless kiss against her filthy forehead. “You do that Siggy.”

~~~

Sigrid only managed to bleed on Gaspard, but she also left gory boot prints all over on the balcony where she berated all three of them for their actions. She looked at them all, standing there staring at her silently. She stood before them with the power to tear down the entire nation. She could topple Celene’s rule right there and then. She could take control of Orlais in the name of the Inquisition, blackmailing them all into following _her_ rule. Sigrid Trevelyan, disgraced nobleman’s daughter, foul-mouthed former mercenary, Qunari-fucker, could take the strings of these sad puppets and rule all of Orlais from the sidelines.

But she didn’t want that. “You’re idiots, all of you,” she muttered, running her fingers through her short hair. “But you’ve managed to keep this country from falling apart while you’ve been in charge,” she finished, looking to Celene. “Just, maybe, keep doing what you’ve been doing? Don’t fuck it up until it’s no longer my problem, okay? Work with Gaspard, he’s an excellent military leader and could be useful to you if you’d stop trying to kill each other.” She motioned haphazardly at the Duke, who inclined his head in something like thanks. “And Briala. You two had a thing going. Don’t let all this ruin that. Take what happiness you can get. For fuck’s sake, it’s more than some people have right now.” Sigrid sighed once more, looking between the sheepish empress and elven ambassador. Neither would look the other in the eye, but at least they weren’t glaring daggers at each other any more. “Now I’m ready for a bath and a change of clothes. So please, go finish off your party. Reassure your people that you haven’t fallen to a darkspawn magister. Yet,” she finished darkly, waving them away.

They left her alone, leaning against the wall and rubbing her hands over her face tiredly. When someone stepped in front of her, blocking out the light pouring from the ballroom, she grumbled into her palms. “What is it now?” she asked, hands still covering her face. “The leaders of another country asking me to resolve their family squabbles? Recover some priceless artifacts? Settle a blood feud? I’m not in the fucking mood, whatever it is...”

“I had something far less stressful in mind,” Bull interrupted, trapping both of her hands in one of his and pulling them away from her face.

“Bull, I’m filthy,” Sigrid complained as he leaned down to press his lips against her own.

“I know.”

“Like, really, _really_ filthy. I think I still have some Florianne in my hair.”

“Yes, I noticed. It suits you. Florianne is really a good color on you.”

“You’re gross.”

“You like it.”

“I never said I didn’t,” she retorted, finally relaxing in his grip. “Now take me inside and find me a bathtub big enough for the both of us, you dirty cow.”

“Can do, Boss.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's like, if you took a ball pit, filled it with fluffy stuffing, and then threw just a couple of razor blades in there. You never know when you might stumble upon a razor blade of porn or angst." - me, trying to describe my fic, and failing. 
> 
> I'm such a sucker for fluff, but I can't do it without at least a little bit of conflict on top of that. 
> 
> Anyway, have some fluff and conflict.

All it took was the right trail of her fingers along the banister in the tavern, the right swing of her hips as she mounted the first step, just the right lack of eye contact as she made her way up the flights of stairs, all the way to the top.

Bull met her in the dusty room set into one of the towers of Skyhold itself, the one with the ever-so-convenient door that led straight back into the tavern. “Are you ever going to sweep this place? I think I saw smaller spiders in the Fade,” she grumbled, glaring into one of the darkened corners.

He just chuckled, casually loosening his belt and allowing his pants to fall to the floor. He kicked out of them and fell heavily onto the bed in nearly the same motion, stretching his arms above his head and groaning in satisfaction. “Nah, they keep the other bugs away, and they don’t bother me.” Sigrid just shuddered lightly and leaned back against his warm side, leaving her own clothes still firmly fastened. “You need something Siggy? Or did I drop my pants on the floor for nothing?”

She nodded, but remained silent, turning instead to run her hands gently down the ragged scars that cut across his face. Her fingers were gentle, tracing the pattern of marks that had claimed his eye, loosening and setting aside the eyepatch that hid the hollow of scar tissue that remained. She wasn’t afraid of the scars, wasn’t repulsed by them. Rather, they were just another thing about him that she loved. They told a story, a story about who Bull was as a man, a story about what he valued and who was important to him. Bull let her continue her examination, his remaining eye watching her closely.

Finally he raised his own hand to her face, running one broad finger down the scar that cut across her left eye. It started well above her eyebrow, cutting through the hair and down into her eyelid, dragging the delicate flesh down around her eye and continuing its jagged path well into her cheek. It was a vicious thing, reshaping her eye into a permanent glare, a mess of once-soft skin now reduced to lumpy scar tissue. She’d been lucky not to lose the entire eye.

“Tell me about this one, _kadan_ ,” he said softly, cupping his hand around her face and running his thumb over the lower ridge of the scar.

Sigrid leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. “Kirkwall,” she murmured, raising her hand to his. “He was little more than a scared kid. Slashed at me with a kitchen knife as I came around a corner. Got lucky, really.” She moved her fingers to the thin scar that cut into the hairline above her ear. “This one too, but it definitely wasn’t a kid. By the time I made it to the Circle there were fucking demons and abominations everywhere. One particularly vicious one made a halfway decent attempt at scalping me.” Sigrid stopped, her breath catching in a rare moment of vulnerability. Bull looked at her silently, knowing that she didn’t want pity, or sympathy, just acceptance. “Everyone who lived through that has scars. Not all of them as obvious as these.” Her brows drew together briefly before she opened her eyes once more, pulling Bull’s hand away from her face and rearranging her features into something more cheerful. “But I didn’t come here to revisit old wounds. I have-”

She stopped abruptly, looking up as the door flew open, letting in the bright sunlight streaming over the battlements and one very distracted Cullen. “Sorry to disturb your rest Inquisitor but- _oh sweet Maker_.”

Cullen had pulled his eyes away from the sheaf of paper clutched in his hands only to be treated to the sight of Bull stretched full length on the bed, wearing not a single stitch of clothing, and Sigrid seated beside him with her arms now folded across her chest in equal parts irritation and amusement. “Cullen. How’s it goin’?” Bull asked, fighting to restrain his laughter. The poor commander wasn’t even given the chance to respond before Josephine followed right on his heels, her own inquiry into Sigrid’s availability dying out as she too laid eyes on the scene unfolding before them all.

“Did you two need something?” Sigrid asked, raising one entirely unapologetic eyebrow.

Cullen shook his head, his eyes determinedly averted and his hands held up as if they could completely block out what he’d already gotten an eyeful of. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I cannot move my legs,” Josephine muttered, her eyes very much _not_ averted.

“Is something- _oh_.” Cassandra marched straight into the room and directly into the path of Sigrid’s murderous glare.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Bull groaned.

“If we’d _wanted_ to invite you all…” Sigrid began in an undertone as Cassandra turned to Cullen.

“Are you seeing this?”

His response came quickly with the barest hint of laughter beneath it. “No.”

“So I take it…” she began again, turning back to Sigrid and Bull.

“Actually, _she’s_ the one who’d been taking it,” Bull interjected, gesturing at Sigrid where she sat with her head in her hands.

Cullen released a snort that was delightfully childlike, and even Sigrid shook with barely suppressed laughter. “Are you all satisfied?” she asked, looking up and over the gathered audience. “Can we get back to it now?”

Cassandra looked between the two of them, her face more stony than usual. “Of course. We’ll leave you to resume what I assume to be a... _momentary diversion_?”

“I mean, who _wouldn’t_ be a bit curious…” Josephine murmured.

Sigrid looked up, her expression transitioning from vaguely irritated to thoroughly irate in mere seconds. “This is no _fling_ , Seeker. Do you have a problem with this? Because I have every intention of continuing my relationship with Bull, in spite of your judgments and with or without your approval. Is that going to be a problem?” Sigrid and Cassandra glared at each other, the two fiercest glares in the Inquisition directed at each other with full strength.

Ultimately it was Josephine who answered, gently gripping one of Cassandra’s elbows and pulling her backwards out of the room. “No, not at all Inquisitor. You two enjoy yourselves.”

Cullen followed with a grin, pulling the door shut behind them. When it finally clicked shut Sigrid threw herself backwards over Bull with an exasperated groan. “Cassandra hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“No, I really think she does. She never approved of making me Inquisitor in the first place.”

“Ah, Siggy, you don’t need her. Everyone else adores you. Sera practically thinks you shit gold,” he responded with a chuckle, beginning to loosen the ties of her shirt. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk about? I feel like we still haven’t gotten around to that.”

“Ah yes,” Sigrid began, sitting up and reaching deep into one pocket. “You know, most people think I don’t listen to them, or that I don’t care about them. And most people are right, because I _don’t_ actually care about them, but when it comes to the people I _do_ care about, I remember the important things.” She turned to face Bull, who pushed himself upright to look down curiously at her closed hand that hovered between them. “Now, remember that I’m shit at this sort of thing, so I’m just going to go for it. I went to a fuck-ton of trouble to do this, so you better like them.” With that she opened her hand, revealing two silver-chased pendants, matching halves of a single dragon’s tooth. They hung from finely worked yet sturdy chains that glinted in the firelight.

“Siggy-” Bull picked one up, the tooth looking so much smaller in his hand than it did in hers.

“I went all the way out to Crestwood and killed a dragon just for this. No one was happy about that. And then I had to find a tooth that wasn’t too small, but also wasn’t so big that I couldn’t wear it anywhere near deep water without worrying about drowning. And then I had to find a silversmith who was willing-” Bull interrupted her by grasping her face in both hands and kissing her, his half of the tooth dangling by the chain tangled up in his fingers.

He pulled away with a soft sigh. “Ah, Siggy. It’s not often that people manage to surprise me. But this…” Bull closed his eye and pressed his forehead against hers. “I love you, _kadan_ ,” he whispered, cupping one hand around the back of her head and pulling her tightly against him.

“ _Kadan_ ,” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning back slightly to look up at him. “What does that mean? You’ve been calling me that, but you won’t tell me what it means…”

Bull smiled, a soft thing, not the usual feral, dangerous grin he usually treated people to. Every line of his face softened as he gently lowered Sigrid to the bed, his hands light and gentle against her skin. “ _Kadan_. _My heart_.”


	24. Chapter 24

Sigrid had stomped all over Skyhold, only to find everyone she needed to talk to missing. Blackwall had vanished somewhere, leaving only a cryptic note that she gave to one of Leliana’s innumerable agents. Sera was nowhere to be found, which usually meant that something truly exciting was happening somewhere else. And to top it all off, even Krem claimed not to know where Bull had wandered off to, only saying that he’d rushed through the tavern a few hours earlier, his arms full of unidentifiable things.

She’d just returned from a particularly frustrating trip to the Exalted Plains, and she didn’t appreciate her people just disappearing without her knowing about it. “I’m the fucking _Inquisitor_ , I should know when you assholes decide to leave our _giant fortified castle_ ,” she grumbled, turning away from Krem angrily. She left word with Cabot that if either Sera or Bull were to return, they were to come see her immediately. Sigrid took his grunt as affirmation and left the tavern, wandering back to her quarters through the late afternoon light.

Skyhold was, as always, bustling with activity. Soldiers trained in the courtyard, agents rushed to a fro, missives clutched in their hands, and refugees made themselves useful where they could. Thankfully, they had all largely stopped bowing to her, though she still received the occasional salute. To think, all it would take was nearly two years of working and sweating and cursing alongside them to get them to stop treating her like fucking Andraste herself.

Sigrid let herself into her quarters, planning to do nothing more than open a nice bottle of wine and read her book until she fell asleep. But before she even made it halfway up the stairs, she could hear the voices echoing down from the rooms  above. When Sigrid reached the top of the stairs, she was greeted by a remarkably strange sight. Bull’s long legs protruded from the open door of the closet to the left of her bed, his head and horns just inside the narrow doorway. If Sigrid didn’t know better, she’d think he was stuck. The barrels that had been in the closet were now in the middle of her room, dust bunnies and other unidentifiable bits of detritus scattered around them. Sigrid could just see Sera seated inside the closet, her elbows planted on her knees and her head braced in her hands. Both of them were clearly completely focused on whatever it was they’d found in her closet, laughing and staring intently at something.

“If you’re setting up some elaborate prank, I’ll have you know that I very rarely go into that closet.”

“Siggy!” Bull tried to turn his head to look at her, but only succeeded in slamming his horns against the door frame. Sera dissolved into giggles as Bull dropped his head again, grimacing and rubbing the base of his horns. Sigrid merely shook her head and walked over to him, casually sitting down on his back to look over his head and into the tiny closet. “Look at what we found, Siggy,” he said, pointing to what looked like a pile of Sigrid’s own clothes. She leaned farther forward, trying to see what was so exciting about her own dirty laundry, when a tiny ball of gray fluff suddenly tumbled out onto the flagstones. “Tiny cats!” Bull proclaimed, gently scooping up the tiny creature and passing it back to Sigrid.

She took it from him gently, looking at the small kitten trapped in her hands. It stared back at her with brilliant green eyes, it’s tiny claws clutching at her skin as it opened it’s mouth in a tiny, furious meow. It was adorable and helpless and angry and Sigrid loved it.

“Remember when we was lookin’ all over for that thing that one time?” Sera asked, plucking a striped orange creature off of her as it tried to scale her arm. “An’ all we dug up was a ton o’ your shite and a cat? Well she came back and made ‘erself at home here. Right adorable, innit?” She grinned at the orange kitten as it resumed climbing up to her shoulder.

“She must have had them right after you left, Siggy,” Bull said, gently scratching the mother under the chin as she left her blanket nest to check on her kittens, all of whom were now bouncing around the little closet. “They’re a couple weeks old at least. We just found them yesterday.”

“Where do you think she came from?” Sigrid asked, setting the gray kitten down in her lap and picking up a boisterous white one, who promptly tried to bite her hand.

“With the refugees maybe? Came in on a wagon, or followed them through the mountains. There’s a few cats in the stables too. Family pets who lost their homes as villages burned, then followed whoever was willing to throw them some scraps.” The mother was laying almost completely in Bull’s hand, purring furiously as he petted her with his free hand. “She’s a brave girl. That’s right, _who’s a brave girl? You’re a brave girl_ …”  he cooed, making kissing noises at the cat in his hands. Sigrid grinned and resumed petting the gray kitten who was perched on her knee, staring down at all his siblings below him with a haughty glare.

“Whatcha gonna do wit’ em, Bossypants?” Sera asked, teasing one kitten with a string she unraveled from the ragged edge of her pants.

Sigrid hummed to herself, setting the gray kitten back amongst his siblings and resting her elbows on Bull’s shoulders to look over the teeming mass of fluff and squeaky purrs. “Oh, I don’t see any reason to move them right now. They seem happy enough in here. When it comes time to find them homes, I’m sure Cole will be able to help us with that.”

“Well don’t go givin’ away that one, yeah?” Sera demanded, pointing at the orange kitten. “He’s mine.”

“Deal.”

“Right. Well.” Sera stood, brushing cat hair and dust off her pants and slipping out of the closet past Bull and Sigrid. “I’m leaving. You’ve probably got shite to talk ‘bout.”

Sigrid listened as her footsteps faded away down the stairs, gently running her fingernails up and down the back of Bull’s neck. She was practically lying across his back at this point, the tension of travelling slowly fading from her muscles. It felt good to be home, with the people she cared about. Skyhold was home now, as strange as it was to admit. And this, right here, was where she ws happiest. She moved her hands down to his shoulders, feeling them flex as he shifted slightly beneath her.

“Hey _kadan_?”

“Hm?”

“I’d love to continue wherever this is going, but you’re gonna have to help me with something first.”

“Oh, what exactly do you need help with?” she asked in a low purr, leaning close to nip at the tip of his ear.

“I think I might actually be stuck in here.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, guys. This has taken me forever. I left my job, started a new one, have worked nothing but 10-12 hour days for my entire first week, had to wipe my laptop hard drive and completely start over (thank the Maker for Google Docs...), but HERE YOU GO.

Sigrid was angry.

She’d swept everything off the surface of her desk in a clatter of breaking glass and ruined reports. She’d reduced one spindly bedside table to nothing more than splinters, and there were fragments of a porcelain wash basin scattered all over the floor, along with her own bloody toe prints from where she’d stepped on one of those sharp pieces.

Now she was standing at her balcony, throwing wine bottles into the void beyond with one hand, the other wrapped around the well-worn handle of a small crossbow. Bottle after bottle shattered in the air, raining glass bits down the miles of empty space below the castle walls.

When she finally ran out of empty wine bottles, she threw the crossbow aside with a snarl, stalking around to the balcony that overlooked the castle grounds. There, not too far below on one of the upper walls, hurried a familiar agent. Sigrid cupped her hands around her mouth and called out to him.

“ _Jim_!” The man practically slid to a stop, looking around in confusion. “Jim, eyes up here, soldier.” He looked up at her, expression vaguely concerned. “Stop whatever it is you’re doing and bring me The Iron Bull.”

“But…” His confused argument barely echoed up to her, the stack of obviously important reports going slightly limp in his hands.

“ _Immediately_ Jim. That’s an order.”

“Y-yes, Inquisitor. Immediately.” He saluted to her and turned on his heel, running away across the walls. She turned back to her rooms, glaring around for something else to break.

~~~

Jim practically fell into Bull’s lap as he rushed into the tavern. “Hey, hey, kid. What’s the rush?” he asked, helping the agent back to his feet. The young man was gasping for breath, still clutching a stack of papers and books to his chest. He tried to speak, but was so out of breath he could hardly get a single word out. Bull pushed him down in to a chair, looking at Jim in concern. The man was never very confident and had a natural tendency to stammer, but this was unusual. Bull was beginning to grow slightly concerned.

“She… Inquisitor… needs… yelled for… immediately… you… important… she said… stop… now…”

Jim was making just enough sense for Bull to rush from the tavern, leaving the confused, breathless man sitting alone, his reports still held tightly against his chest.

~~~

Bull crashed through the last door, taking the steps up to Sigrid’s rooms three at a time. “Siggy!!” he called out, coming to a halt at the top of the stairs and gazing around the destroyed room in horror. “ _Kadan_!” There were papers, broken bottles, crossbow bolts, splinters of a broken table scattered over the floor. And, was that…   _blood_ on the flagstones, a hectic pattern of bloody footprints all over the room. One closet door was firmly shut, agitated cat noises echoing from behind it. The other was open, footprints leading straight into it. But no sign of…

Sigrid walked out of the closet, greatsword in one hand and bits of her armor in the other. “The fuck, Bull? Is something wrong? What happened?”

He just stared at her in shock for a moment. “What happened?” he repeated, gesturing around the room. “You tell me! Poor Jim comes running in, babbling like a madman, sounding like something was happening up here, and I find you and _this_!”

Sigrid looked around herself, expression unreadable. “Ah. Right. This. I’m not handling things super well right now.”

“No shit, Siggy.”

“I mean, the whole Blackwall disaster, gathering our people to go to this elven temple, that witch bringing that eluvian thing into my castle.” She kicked at a broken piece of porcelain, sending it skittering across the floor. “Especially the Blackwall thing. That self-righteous fucker.” Sigrid shook her head, then sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “What was he thinking, running off like that to _die_? And then I had to follow him, and pull all kinds of strings to get him out. I mean, what was I supposed to do?” she asked. Bull walked carefully to stand in front of her. “I couldn’t look Josephine in the eye and tell her that we were going to leave him there to be executed. I know how they feel about each other. So I have another criminal take his place, another man who deserves to die. And then, _then_ , the bastard has the audacity to give me shit for it in front of the rest of the Inquisition, while I’m sitting on _my fucking throne_! I should have left him to die.”

Bull sighed, reaching out to catch her hands between his own. They were shaking slightly, her rage breaking through her self control. “You did the right thing, _kadan_.”

“But did I? I’m giving him to the Wardens. Making him live the reality of the lie he told all of us. He might die anyway.” Her hands were loose in his, not fighting him, not trying to pull away. Just, there. “I didn’t _spare_ him. I sentenced him to a slow expiration date.” She dropped her head against her hands, and his. “And now I have to go to this fucking temple in the ass end of nowhere in the Arbor Wilds. Bull, this is-”

“ _Shhhhhh_.” Bull moved his hands from her hands to her face, leaning down to look her in the eye. “Siggy, you’ll do fine. You’ve always done fine.”

“No, Bull, I _haven’t_. This whole thing has been one disaster after another. The only thing I’m good at is killing people. I’ve always been good at killing people. Fuck, that’s what I was on my way to do,” she explained, gesturing at her discarded armor on the ground. “Let’s just go kill something, alright? I hear there’s Venatori out in the Hissing Wastes. I was thinking we could ride out that way, be there in a week, kill some ‘vints.” Sigrid tried to rise, reaching for her sword where it lay on the floor. But Bull was there to push her back down to the edge of the bed, his hands heavy on her shoulders.

“Siggy _stop_. Killing people is great, believe me, but it’s _not_ what you need right now.”

“Yeah?” she asked, frowning up at him. “What do I need Bull? Look around. Look around here. Before I break another side table, or bottle of outrageously expensive Antivan ink, why don’t we just leave? Just get out of here and let me work off some of this.”

Bull was shaking his head, looking at Sigrid with the smallest of grins. “No, _kadan_. That’s not what you need.” He shoved the few pieces of armor and detritus off the bed, allowing them to fall to the floor with a crash.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Bull.”

“Siggy.”

“I’m ready to kill things.”

“I hear you.”

“But you’re not _listening_.”

“Oh, I’m listening. Just not to what’s coming out of your mouth.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You love it.”

“I… Fuck you.”

“That’s the plan.” Bull pushed her flat onto the bed, watching as she sank into the deep, plush blankets.

“Ugh, you-” Sigrid broke off, taking a slow, deep breath as Bull stretched her hands over her head, freeing the loops of long, soft silk that hid behind the headboard to wrap them around her wrists. “This is not how I expected this afternoon to go,” she complained, glaring at Bull’s grinning face. His hands kept up their work, moving down to unlace the ties of Sigrid’s shirt, slipping his hands beneath her breast band as she continued to half-heartedly grumble.

“ _Bull_ …”

“ _Kadan_ …” Bull moved lower, dragging his hands down against the waistband of her pants, slowly slipping them over her hips.

“Can we, oh-” Sigrid threw one leg over his horns, arching her back off the bed. “Hmmmm. When we’re done here… can we still… _oh_ … can we still go kill some Venatori?”

“You think you’ll be able to hop on a horse after what I have planned for you, _kadan_?”

“It’s never stopped me before.”

“Well we’ll just see about that, won’t we?”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again for making you wait so long. I promise, in a couple weeks my own life will be slightly less hectic and I'll have more time to write again.   
> I hope.

 

“Why did I want to come out here?” Sigrid stomped her way to the top of yet another dune in the interminable nothingness that was the Hissing Wastes. “There is fuck-all out here. Where are all the Ventaori bastards I was promised?”

“Honestly, Needles, I don’t know why you insisted on dragging us _all_ out here.” Varric stayed at the bottom of the sand dune, glaring around the vast emptiness.

“I dunno what you’re all flappin’ about. It’s nice and warm, yeah? Better than all that mountain-y shite.” Sera followed Sigrid up the dune, planting her hands on her hips and gazing out at the desert enthusiastically.

Bull and Solas remained below as well, Bull gazing around in open curiosity, while Solas remained typically impassive and inscrutable.

“Well you’re all here now, so let’s go. And I don’t want to listen to you people whine about it any more.” Sigrid marched back down the dune and picked a direction, leading her small party towards an event that none of them could have predicted.

~~~

“Kadan, I really just think you don’t under _sand_ …”

“I swear Bull, one more shitty desert pun…”

“Don’t worry, I’m all dried up.”

“ _Uggggh_.”

Varric piped up from the back. “Things seem to be getting a bit _heated_ up there.”

“You two assholes like the desert so much? I’ll leave you out here. See if I don’t.”

“Inquisitor.”

“Not you too, Solas. I’m not listening.”

“No, Inquisitor, you should look to our left.”

Sigrid came to a halt and turned to look where Solas was now pointing. “Oh. Shit.”

There, just below the rise they were marching along, was a good-sized camp of Venatori and corrupted red templars gathered around ruins that towered out of the endlessly shifting sands.

“You wanted a fight, yeah?” Sera asked, pulling her bow off her back. “Let’s give ‘em a fight.”

Sigrid took a deep breath, pulling her greatsword off her back. She could hear the sounds of her companions readying themselves behind her, Varric freeing the arms of his crossbow, Solas casting his gentle wash of barriers, and Bull dragging his sharp fingernails along the curved edge of his axe. Sera took the lead, dropping to one knee to draw her bow in a single, powerful shot. She took a few precious seconds to sight down the hewn haft and then, with a rush of air, released it. It struck a distant Venatori mage with explosive force, effectively announcing their presence to the entire well-armed camp.

~~~

Every fight begins differently.

Some begin suddenly, with a shout, an ambush, a rush and clatter of weapons and armor.

Others begin slowly, with time to prepare, to think, to make some semblance of a plan.

This particular encounter fell into the latter category. It was begun from a distance, allowing the aggressors, these agents of the Inquisition, time to assess the situation they were faced with and make a plan. It allowed them the opportunity to lead the charge, to define the first stages of the confrontation and hopefully claim the victory in the end.

But it also allowed their enemy the opportunity to regroup as this small band descended the hillside of sliding sand. It allowed them the briefest of seconds to acknowledge their fallen comrade while they banded together. It left them just enough time for the immense monster of red lyrium that had once been a man to turn around and focus on the approaching group. In short, it allowed them just enough time to become something significantly more dangerous.

Bull struck first, his axe blade sinking deep into the stomach of a foot soldier who glowed with a vague red aura. The man crumpled bonelesly to the ground as Bull freed his axe, spinning away to wreak havoc deeper in the crowd. Sera, Varric and Solas took up places on the outskirts, picking off stragglers and lending their assistance to the two warriors in the middle of the fray.

And Sigrid, Sigrid was a storm. Sigrid was rage and fire and blood, laying waste to all who came before her.

Until, just as slowly as this all began, it came to a stop.

It felt like it took an eternity, Sigrid would say later. From the moment she realized what was happening to the moment it was done, she felt every second as if it were a hundred years. Every sound, every movement, every word reached her ears, her mind processing every bit of information in the world around her like it was the last bit of information it would receive.

Because, for a moment, it seemed like it would be.

~~~

Sigrid was so busy trading blows with a Venatori mercenary that she didn’t hear the cloaked assassin rushing her from behind until it was too late. She pulled her sword out of the heart of the mercenary and turned to parry the blow she now realized was coming.

Only to turn just in time to watch the assassin’s blade slip right beneath the front edge of her breastplate and between her ribs. She blinked for a moment, then looked up at the woman whose hand still gripped the blade. She was old, for a warrior, her skin weathered and creased with time. This was a woman who knew her work, who didn’t flinch from what was necessary. But it seemed even she had never expected to be the one to strike the true death-blow against the Herald of Andraste herself. The two women locked eyes, their lives briefly linked by one short length of steel. Sigrid coughed and broke the stare, looking down once again at the blade jutting out from her body. The assassin released it and took half a step back, knowing that at this point all she need do was wait. Sigrid coughed again, this time trying to make it sound more like a laugh. The blood in her mouth was making that difficult. She laughed again, this time forcefully. The hand that wasn’t still holding her own sword reached up to grip the hilt of the dagger. “Are you going to want this back?” she asked weakly, before her knees turned to water beneath her and she hit the ground hard, the motion violently jarring the blade that was pulling the life from her body, one precious drop of blood at a time.

~~~

It was the quietest sound that caught Bull’s attention in the madness and chaos of battle. A cough, the wet kind of cough that spoke of death, slow and rattling death. But it was coming from a mouth that should never, ever have uttered such a sound. He felt his heart drop out of his chest, the dragon’s tooth around his neck suddenly heavy as a boulder. His eye found her almost of its own accord, watching as she spoke a few words through a bloody smile, then collapsed to the ground.

In that moment, he didn’t even waste the time for words. He buried his axe blade in the nearest soldier and left it there, charging through the camp and fiercely hurling aside anyone he encountered. His gaze remained locked on her body where it lay in the sand, her chest hitching in small coughs.

He fell to his knees at her side, leaning far over her to shield her with his own body. “Kadan, kadan, hey, look at me Siggy, look at me.” Her gaze was distant and glazed, but it came back around to him slowly as he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, holding her as gently as one might hold an infant. She smiled up at him, raising one bloody hand to grip his arm.

“Hey Bull.”

“Yeah, Siggy. I’m here.”

“I’ve got one for you.”

“One what, kadan?” Solas had dropped to his knees opposite them, and Bull could already feel the frantic waves of magic coming off of him. The sounds of battle around them had turned instead to the sounds of the dying, to occasional mechanical ratchet of Varric’s crossbow or thrum of Sera’s bow the only variations.

“A pun, you giant cow.” She tried to laugh again, but broke off into a long wheeze instead. Bull’s own lungs felt like they were gripped in a vise, but he pulled a smile to his face for her sake. Her hand had fallen from his arm and now simply hung limp at her side.

“Is now really the best time?” he asked, following Solas’ direction to carefully pick her up and follow him. Bull cradled Sigrid to his chest tenderly, feeling the burning heat of her blood running down his skin. He was unashamedly weeping, tears coursing down one side of his face.

“Uh huh,” she breathed, reaching one hand up with a colossal effort and placing it over his heart. “ _It’s been knife knowing you_.”

“Kadan, that’s terrible.”

There was no response. Bull took a great, gasping breath and set her down on the crates beside which Solas stood. Nothing. She was still. Quiet.

Gone.

~~~

Her blood had turned the sand black, a dark reminder that Bull now stared down at. Behind him lay the corpse of the assassin responsible, her body a pincushion of arrows and crossbow bolts. Varric and Sera had been thorough, at least.

Her blood on his hands and chest had turned to shades of rust and brown, but he was beyond caring.

He heard his name and ignored it, allowing whoever spoke it to walk away with a sad shake of their head.

Here was her sword, unceremoniously dropped in the sand.

He picked it up.

Much farther away was his axe, still lying where he left it in the body of a man who looked more like a scholar than a soldier.

He left it there.

~~~

Night had fallen around him, and still he sat, staring at the moon that rose once more over the emptiness around him.

Emptiness suited him right now.

The tent at his back was silent as the grave, and he suspected that’s exactly what it had become now.

He was as dry as the air he still breathed, mechanically inhaling and exhaling as if it was something that required all of his concentration.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there. Not that it truly mattered, but part of him was idly curious. Could he sit here until he too died? It wasn’t the worst idea.

~~~

There was a rustle of canvas and the quiet sound of bare feet on sand.

“Bull.” Solas stood in the pale pre-dawn light, his face drawn and exhausted, his hands shaking and covered in blood. “Bull, look at me.”

He did, blinking up at the haggard elf. Solas was terrified by the emptiness he saw there, the complete nothingness that lingered in his gaze.

“She’s asking for you.”

It took several long moments for that information to sink in. But Solas watched as that terrifying emptiness faded, and hope blossomed on Bull’s features once more.

“She’s-”

“Alive, yes. And asking for you.”

Bull couldn’t get to his feet fast enough, scrambling through the door of the tent while trying not to knock the whole thing down with his horns. And there she was, alive, awake, and watching him with a small, tired smile.

Bull cupped her face and wept, and that’s how they remained as the sun rose once more over the Inquisitor and The Iron Bull.

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another major computer crash slowed me down again. Also Thanksgiving, but mostly my computer. I'm a mess, but I'm getting better, I promise.

The Hissing Wastes became, for a while, their home.

Letters were sent back to Skyhold, and supplies were in return sent to their growing camp.

And Sigrid was, as ever, an uncooperative patient.

“Kadan, if you don’t lay back down, I will tie you to that bed.” Bull pressed one hand firmly against her chest, pushing her back down. “And we both know that I know what I’m doing when it comes to tying people to beds.”

Sigrid grumbled but laid back down. “I’m _bored_ , Bull. I’ve been here for a week now. If I lay here any longer, my legs are just going to shrivel up and fall off.” She tried to push herself up onto her elbows, the better to glare at Bull where he sat on the end of her bed. But halfway up her face contorted in pain and she lowered herself back down. “Don’t say it,” she said warningly, pointing one finger at Bull. “Just don’t.”

~~~

“If you’re not going to let me walk around on my own, then you’re at least going to carry me outside so I can get some fresh air.” Sigrid was propped up on a stack of pillows, glowering at Bull. Again.

“Siggy-”

“No. Stop arguing with me. Yes, I got stabbed. Yes, I almost died. No, I’m not actively dying _now_. I tried to die _three weeks ago_ , and was mostly unsuccessful. So pick me up and take me outside so I can see the sun again.” Sigrid’s arms were folded over her chest, and her eyes had take on the hard glint that told Bull that this wasn’t an argument he was likely to win. So it was, with a long-suffering sigh, that he wrapped her in a dressing gown and scooped her up in his arms, taking care to move her as gently as possible as he lifted her from her nest of blankets.

He shouldered his way through the flap of the tent, and Sigrid raised one hand to shield her eyes from the harsh sun. The air was chilly, a crisp morning wind blowing between the tents. But there was activity in the camp already. Inquisition scouts had settled into the area with them, and most of them were readying themselves for their day. They paused as she approached, carried delicately against Bull’s warm chest. She’d seen a few of them since they’d arrived, listening to their reports from the safety of her sickbed. But it was the first time any of them had seen her outside since she’d nearly died three weeks before. Their Inquisitor was alive, but haggard, her recovery promising to be long and difficult. Solas continued to do what he could, but even he insisted that the best thing for her now was simply time.

Sigrid hadn’t been pleased to hear that.

But she was outside once more, and she did her best to salute her troops as Bull carried her through the camp. He continued walking, right past the sentry and to the top of a dune a short distance away from the camp. It was there that he settled gracefully to the ground, lowering Sigrid down to rest with her back against his chest. They sat there for a few minutes in companionable silence, satisfied with nothing more than the presence of each other.

“Hey Siggy?”

“Yeah, Bull?”

“What are we going to do when all this is over?”

She turned to look up at him, but his gaze was distant, his face turned to the expanse of desert that stretched in front of them. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are we going to do? You and I?”

“Oh.” Sigrid turned back to the horizon, running one hand up and down Bull’s arm gently. “Well, I’d had a few thoughts.”

She felt Bull’s chuckle rumble through his chest. “A few thoughts? Any you feel like sharing?”

“Oh, maybe…” She trailed off, bringing Bull’s hand up to her mouth, pressing kisses across his fingers, not sparing the scarred stubs as she lavished her attentions over his hand. “For a price.”

“Siggy…” he said hesitantly.

“No, don’t you dare.”

“You’re still healing, I won’t-”

“Maker’s balls, Bull, I’m not asking you to fuck me raw in the sand right now. But you’ve barely touched me in nearly three weeks. You’ve gotta give me _something_.” Sigrid turned carefully to face him, throwing her legs over his hips. It still hurt to move, but at least she _could_ move again. The forced inactivity was beginning to drive her mad, and it was a welcome change to be outside once again. She looked up into his face, hoping for a reaction, for _anything_. But Bull was tense, his face turned away from her, determinedly avoiding her gaze.

So Sigrid punched him. Just once, not as hard as she’d wanted, but hard enough to twinge at the healing wound in her abdomen and to bring Bull’s gaze back down to her. Not to her face, but to her side, to the place where so recently he’d watched a knife slide out from between her ribs.

“Damn you, Bull, look at _me_. You want to know where I see us going after all this is over? You want to ask me questions about our _future_? Then stop fucking ignoring me.”

“I’m not ignoring you, I just-”

“You _are_ , you bastard, stop lying to me.”

“Siggy, I-”

“ _What_ are you so _afraid_ of, Bull?”

His brows drew together in a frown as he finally brought his eye around to her face. “What am I afraid of, Siggy?” he asked, gripping her by the shoulders none too gently. “I’m afraid that one of these days, you really are going to die. And I’m afraid of what that’ll do to me. Why do I want to know what your plans for the future are? Because I’m trying to figure out how to tell you that I can’t imagine my life without you, and how to say I hope you feel the same way.” Bull sighed deeply, dropping his head to press his forehead gently against hers. “I’m afraid,” he began quietly. “because I held your broken body as you died, and I realized just how much I love you, and _that_ is what scares me, _that_ is what I’m afraid of. Not you, not the future, _me_. I’ve never loved anything as much as I love you, _kadan_ , and that’s really fucking terrifying.”

Sigrid remained silent, her eyes closed and her face pressed against his. Without opening her eyes, she brought her lips to his, freeing one arm from his grip to wrap around the back of his neck. Bull was slow to respond, but respond he did, ever-so-carefully picking up her healing body and enveloping it in his own warm, strong grip.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes writer's block hits you like a freight train. Add to that the holidays and twelve hour days at work, and things just don't happen as quickly.   
> Gone are the days when I was updating this every few days...  
> I apologize, but I promise I'm still writing, and hope you guys are still interested in reading!

“Welcome to the Arbor Wilds, Inquisitor.”

“Is that a mushroom?”

“Excuse me?”

Sigrid pointed over Morrigan’s shoulder, to what looked like an enormous outcrop of fungus. “That thing, over there, that looks like a fucking enormous mushroom.”

“Yes, it is a mushroom. It is also the least strange of all the things we will encounter in this place, Inquisitor. So keep your eyes open and watch your step.”

“Okay, okay. But tell me this. Is it edible?”

~~~

“Well, shit.”

They hunched, mostly hidden, behind the railing of a balcony, watching the scene unfold beneath them. They watched as Corypheus himself approached the bridge leading to the temple, flanked by his most trusted general, the Tevinter mage Calpernia. They watched in shock as Corypheus drew closer to the contingent of armored elves who stood resolute before him, only to fall to a blaze of power unlike anything they’d ever seen.

“Oh, _shit_.” Sigrid stood, leaving their cover to watch as Calpernia fled over Corypheus’ shattered body. “She seems awfully casual about the fact that her boss just _disintegrated_ right in front of her.”

Sigrid led her small party down to examine the gory scene laid out before them. They were looking at the mess of corpses and rubble covering the approach to the bridge, carefully stepping over the worst of it all. “Do you think he’s really-”

“Uh, Boss?” Bull tugged at her elbow, pointing to something happening behind them. Sigrid turned to look at whatever it was he was seeing, then uttered a phrase that was beginning to feel very repetitive.

“ _Shit_!” A previously very dead Grey Warden corpse was in the process of turning into a significantly _less_ dead darkspawn magister. “Run!” she shouted, shoving her companions along in front of her and running full speed for the temple doors as Corypheus rose to his full height and lunged after them. “Across the bridge! Now!” Sigrid turned back for a moment, only to be treated to the sight of the blighted dragon soaring directly towards them. She threw herself through the immense mosaic doors, joining her companions in slowly shoving them closed. They sealed with a rush of magic just in time to stop the dragon’s collision with their unyielding surface, the concussion of its strike sending Sigrid and all her companions tumbling head over heels into the room beyond.

“Do you think these are here to keep things out, or to keep other things _in_?” Cole asked, looking around the space they now stood in.

“I’m not sure, but you can bet your ass we’re going to find out soon enough,” Sigrid replied, leading them deeper into the temple.

“Why would I bet that, I don’t want-”

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Bull interrupted, shooing Cole along behind their leader.

“Also,” Sigrid added, turning to look at Morrigan from the corner of her eye as they walked. “Maybe on our way you can tell me what you know about this ‘well’ that Corypheus mentioned before he died and then came back to life?”

Morrigan shrugged. “I do not know anything about the well that he spoke of. Perhaps-”

“Cut the shit, Morrigan.” Sigrid came to a halt before a crumbling archway. “You’re great at keeping secrets, but ironically, a terrible liar. Now tell me what you know.”

“Inquisitor-”

“Fine. You don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But if you get us killed? I swear to every god on this continent that I will haunt the _shit_ out of you.”

Sigrid continued on, leaving Morrigan behind to continue arguing with Solas. She was stomping her way up a set of stairs, mumbling to herself, when the floor beneath her lit up blue.

“Ooh, _pretty_.” Bull was, as always, behind her, and he leaned over her shoulder to admire the magically lit tile.

“You would say something asinine like that.”

“You really are in a foul mood,” he added, much more quietly, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. “Come on, we’re exploring an ancient elven ruin with pretty glowing floors. You could be having so much more _fun_.” He leaned down and nipped at her ear. Sigrid sighed and leaned away.

“Really? Right here? Right now? We’re only exploring this damn ruin because the darkspawn magister and his Tevinter cronies intent on destroying the world want something that’s hidden here, and we’re here for the sole purpose of taking it before he can, even though we don’t actually know what it is that he wants. Also this place appears to be full of lethal elven warriors, and we’re not exactly _alone_. So maybe right now isn’t the _best_ time for whatever it is you’re trying to do right now.”

“Oh, they’re not looking, they’re all the way over there still arguing about that wolf statue. Fen-something. Solas seems awfully worked up about it.”

“Yes, well, they’re going to stop arguing any second and then we’ll be- _hey_.” Bull was grazing his teeth along her jawline, one strong hand cupped under her chin. “As much as I’m enjoying that, I really think maybe we should figure out why the floor is glowing. It seems like it might be something important.” Sigrid slipped out of his grip, patting him consolingly on the chest. “Remind me of this later though, if we don’t get murdered by ancient elves. I’d be happy to revisit your plans then…” She grinned and called to Morrigan, who abandoned her argument with Solas with a long-suffering sigh. She joined Sigrid and Bull on the tiled platform,

“It appears the temple’s magics are still strong…” Morrigan stepped up beside them, gazing down at the floor beneath their feet. Sigrid moved farther forward to look closely at the crumbling stone monolith in the middle of the platform. She pulled away some vines, revealing writing carved into its surface. “It looks like ancient elven,” she murmured, running her fingertips over the runes.

“It looks like it reads-”

“Morrigan, do you really think you’re the most qualified person here to read ancient elven?” Sigrid interrupted, treating the woman to a withering look. She moved her gaze to Solas, raising one eyebrow in silent invitation.

He nodded, a small smirk briefly crossing his face. “ _Atish’all vir abelasan_. It means ‘enter the path of the well of sorrows’.”

Morrigan was undeterred. “There is also something about knowledge…” she added. “Respectful or pure. _Shiven_ , _shivennen…”_ She trailed off, while her eyes still followed the lines of writing. “‘Tis all I can translate,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “That it mentions the well at all is a good omen.” Morrigan continued, gesturing at the ever-glowing floor beneath them. “Followers of Mythal would have first paid obeisance here. Perhaps following their path will show us more.” She stepped away, leaving Sigrid still processing what they’d learned from the writing on the stone.

Bull stepped up to her side, his voice pitched low so only she could hear him. “Boss, you should know-”

“That Morrigan is lying? Yeah, I noticed.”

Bull hummed approvingly. “You know, _kadan_ , you would have made a great Ben-Hassrath.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“Me either, Siggy.”

“Hmph. Well then apply your big smart spy brain to helping me figure out this damn floor.”

~~~

“So my choices are ‘fling myself down into the dark hole’ or ‘complete all the tedious floor puzzles and hope they open a door or something’?” Sigrid was standing on the edge of the gaping hole in the floor that Calpernia had created, wishing yet again that her life was simpler and filled with fewer horrible decisions. “Is there a third, less terrible choice hiding somewhere?”

“The petitioner’s path leads to our true destination, Inquisitor. We should walk it, as we discussed.”

“You seem awfully eager to reach this well, Morrigan,” Sigrid said accusingly.

“Are we not all eager to stop Corypheus?”

“I think what you _really_ want is to take this well for yourself.”

Morrigan frowned at her, gesturing vaguely for Sigrid to follow her to the door that lead to the petitioner’s path.

“No,” Sigrid said simply. “If you have something to say, you can say it right here, with everyone else. I’m done with your lies, and I think everyone else here is as well.”

Morrigan looked at the faces arranged in front of her, Sigrid’s angry, Bull’s cautious, Solas’ aggressively neutral, and Cole’s wide-eyed and observant. She finally relented, throwing up her hands.

“Fine. Corypheus seeks the well for his own gain, he would squander its power in his pursuit of his own. I would see it _restored_.”

“You would restore the power of the well that you knew nothing about? I think maybe there’s more to this story that you haven’t told us.”

“I…may have read more in the first chamber than I reveled.”

“No shit.”

“There are more lies than truth, a web that gets harder and harder to navigate as the threads become more tangled. The truth wants out, it just doesn’t know how to get to the surface any more.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Solas said to the young man, stepping forward. “I may be able to fill in some of those blanks, if the witch will not, Inquisitor.”

“No, no, I shall tell you what I read,” Morrigan insisted irritatedly. “It spoke of a great boon, given to those who use the Well of Sorrows, but at a terrible price.”

Bull shook his head. “Uh-uh. I don’t like the sound of that, Boss.”

“What kind of horrible curse should we prepare ourselves for now?” Sigrid asked, running her hands through her hair in irritation. “Because the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we follow Calpernia and stop her from taking the Well or the eluvian for herself, right?”

“It would be far easier to advise you of a curse, Inquisitor. This price is not so well defined.” Morrigan became defensive, looking at them all seriously. “My priority is your cause, as always. But if the opportunity arises to save the Well, I am willing to pay the price.”

“Oh really? And what exactly would you gain from your selfless sacrifice?”

“That remains to be seen. But perhaps the rituals would point the way?”

“Ah, yes. The rituals.” Sigrid turned away from Morrigan once more, not satisfied with the answers she’d received, but no longer left in the dark by the witch’s deceptions. Before her opened a dark, featureless hole, down which Calpernia had disappeared with her followers. Through a doorway to her right waited another ritual of magic and puzzles, a safer but perhaps slower method of reaching their goal. “Solas?” she asked, not turning away from her contemplation of the hole.

She felt him step up beside her, and waited as he considered his words carefully. “Surprisingly, I agree with the witch. This place is ancient, and holds a power that is not to be trifled with. Respecting the rituals of ages past may be a wise choice. But I will support you no matter what you decide, as always.” He placed his hand on her shoulder briefly before retreating once more.

Sigrid sighed, running frustrated hands through her messy hair once more. “Fine. Let’s go run around on some puzzles again.”

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, all.

“Tis not what I expected,” Morrigan murmured, following Sigrid into the chamber. It was pristine, clean and undamaged, unlike the ruins of the outer grounds of the temple. “What was this chamber used for?”

Sigrid didn’t answer, largely because she had no answer to offer. But she did throw up a hand to stop her companions, her every sense on high alert. “We’re being watched.” Sigrid cast a cautious glance around the room, taking in the sight of a long rank of elven warriors arranged around them, bows drawn and arrows held steadily in their direction. Sigrid knew that they wouldn’t hesitate to fire, should the command come. Where would the command come from though, she wondered. 

“ _ Venavis.”  _ Above, on a high balcony, stood another elf, hooded and armored like the rest, but with an unmistakable air of authority. 

“You are unlike the other invaders,” he began, gesturing down where they stood. “You bear the mark of magic which is...familiar.” Sigrid’s hand flared, as if in response to his accusation or her own growing ire, she couldn’t tell. “How has this come to pass?” the elf continued. “What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

“They’re our enemies,” Sigrid offered. “As well as yours, if you’ll have them. They’re not too bad, as far as mortal enemies go. Relatively clean, predictable to a fault. I’d be happy to share.”

A faint shadow of a smile passed over the man’s face above them. “I am called Abelas. We are sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred grounds. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek,” she said accusingly, pacing the precipice above them. “Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the Vir’abelasan.”

Morrigan leaned over to whisper to Sigrid. “The Place of the Well of-” 

“Yeah, I’m following, thanks,” she spat back, shushing the witch. 

“It is not  _ for _ you, it is not for  _ any _ of you,” he growled, glaring at them each in turn, but reserving a special disdain for Morrigan. 

Sigrid sighed to herself, turning to Solas. “Anything to offer?”

“What shall I say, Inquisitor?” he asked in irritation. “Shall I sway him from a millennia of service by virtue of our shared blood? He clings to all that remains of his world, because he lacks the power to restore it.” Solas’ eyes were downcast, his voice distant. Sigrid spared him a brief glance and moment of silence before she turned back to Abelas. 

“We need your help,” she stated. “There are those who would seek to seize the power of the well for themselves and use it for unspeakable evil.” She spread her hands in a gesture of respectful supplication, an uncharacteristic gesture that surprised her gathered party. “We knew this place was sacred. We respected it as best we could.”

Abelas stared down at her impassively. There were long seconds of tense, uncomfortable silence before he nodded once, slowly. “I believe you.” Sigrid dropped her arms and let out a relieved sigh. “Trespassers you are, but you have followed rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them.”

“Excellent…” Bull muttered behind her. “Now it’s a party.”

But Abelas wasn’t finished. “When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart… And never return.”

Solas stepped up to Sigrid’s side, urgency clear in his voice. “This is our goal, is it not?” he asked. “There is no need to fight these sentinels.”

“Consider carefully,” Morrigan warned from her opposite side. “You must stop Corypheus, yes. But you may also need the Well for your own.”

“I’ve had just about enough fighting for one lifetime already, Morrigan. I don’t want to spill any more blood today.” Sigrid could feel Solas relax on her opposite side, and felt a rush of fondness for the elf. For all his flaws, he seemed a peaceful man at heart, always content to see conflict and bloodshed averted. Sigrid raised her gaze back to where Abelas stood waiting for her answer. “I accept your offer,” she stated formally, bowing her head. 

Abelas motioned for an elven woman carrying a heavy tome in her arms to come forward. “You will be guided to those you seek.” Then his gaze grew dark once more. “As for the Vir’abelasan,” he added, a warning creeping into his tone. “It shall not be despoiled, even if I have to destroy it myself.” And with that, he turned away, disappearing quickly into the chamber beyond. 

“No!” Morrigan’s cry echoed through the hall as she leapt forward. Sigrid lunged for her, but caught only air as Morrigan transformed into a crow and soared after Abelas. 

“Maker take you, Morrigan!” Sigrid snarled, flinging a rude hand gesture at the witch as she fled. She turned back to her remaining, exceedingly loyal allies with a sigh. “Well, let’s follow this lady and hope she can lead us to Calpernia.”

~~~

“That did not go quite as I’d expected.”

“She didn’t want to fight. She only fought because she thought she needed to. She only wanted the best for those she left behind.”

“I think you guys can put those away,” Sigrid said, sheathing her own sword. Somehow, against all odds, she’d managed to convinced Calpernia to leave,  _ without _ murdering them. Sigrid didn’t have high hopes for her confrontation with her master, but she still secretly hoped that the eager ‘Vint could make it back to her country. There was good to be done there, and Sigrid thought that maybe Calpernia had a real chance of being some of that good. 

“Hmph,” Bull grumbled, hanging his axe over his shoulder once more. “We’ve barely gotten to kill anything in here at all, Boss.” 

“We’re also completely not beat to shit for once, which is really neat.” 

Their victory reflection was short lived however, as they spied Abelas and Morrigan racing each other up a set of stairs that assembled themselves as Abelas climbed them, Morrigan soaring alongside as a crow. 

Sigrid didn’t waste a single second in rushing after them, Bull’s heavy footsteps and Cole and Solas’ much lighter tread following close behind. She slid to a stop at the top of the stairs just in time to see Morrigan land between Abelas and the Well, conflict written on every line of her body. She looked at Sigrid over Abelas’ shoulder. “You heard his parting words, Inquisitor. The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows!”

“So the sanctum is despoiled at last,” Abelas said bitterly, looking between Morrigan and Sigrid. 

“No one is here to do any despoiling,” Sigrid said, trying to keep herself between the witch and the sentinel. 

“You would have destroyed the well yourself, given the chance,” Morrigan threw over Sigrid’s shoulder, pointing at Abelas accusingly.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers!” Sigrid sidestepped again, as Abelas glared at Morrigan. “Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving!”

“Fool!” 

“Morrigan, for fucks sake-”

“You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows!”

“ _ Enough _ , Morrigan.” Sigrid shoved the woman back, treating her to a look that offered no room for argument. She turned back to Abelas, her face still stony. “We don’t want a fight, Abelas. But we might be able to use the wisdom the Well has to offer in our fight against Corypheus.”

“I care not for your human squabbles.”

“You’ll care when Corypheus comes to take the Well for himself. Do you think the last of your sentinels will be able to stand against him?”

Abelas shook his head, in sadness or disgust Sigrid couldn’t tell. “Do you even know what you ask?”

Sigrid held up a hand as Morrigan opened her mouth to speak once more. “No. No we don’t. But we can’t afford to let Corypheus win. And if the Well can help us in that fight, can we really afford to let it slip away?”

Abelas turned away, gazing down at the still surface of the pool before them. He held a hand over it, fondly and protectively. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on... through this. All that we were, all that we knew. It would be lost forever.”

“You would rather see it sit here, never to be passed on, used?” Sigrid asked, incredulous and a little bit desperate. “You would rather destroy it and see that knowledge truly disappear? Is that really better?”

“There are other places, friend,” Solas said, stepping forward. “Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

Abelas turned slowly, his face inscrutable. “Elvhen such as  _ you _ ?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

“Yes,” Solas replied simply, not taking his eyes away from Abelas’ own. “Such as I.”

Abelas offered no response, only a look that was at once dismissive and sad. He turned back to Sigrid with resignation. “You have shown respect to Mythal,” he admitted. “And there is a righteousness in you that I cannot deny. Is that what you desire?” he asked seriously, looking at Sigrid. “To partake of the Vir’abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?”

Sigrd paused, considering. Would she brave the unnamed risk of the Well for the potential of knowledge that would help her in her fight against Corypheus? What was one more unnamed risk added to the myriad she already faced? What was servitude to a dead god she didn’t believe in to begin with. So she nodded. “Yes. Not without your permission, but yes.”

“Inquisitor-”

“Shut up, Morrigan.”

“One does not obtain permission, one earns the  _ right _ .” Abelas said,  turning away. “The Vir’abelasan may be too much for a  _ mortal _ to comprehend. Brave it if you must, but know you this. You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

“Bound?” Morrigan scoffed. “To a goddess-”

“Morrigan, if it wouldn’t be profoundly disrespectful, I would drown you in the well myself. Please, stop talking.”

Abelas did not let the interruption deter him. “Bound, as we are bound. The choice is yours.” He turned away, making for the stairs.

“Wait,” Sigrid exclaimed. “That’s it? No more duty, no more commitment to Mythal?”

“Our duty ends, why remain?”

“There is a place for you,  _ lethallin _ . If you seek it.”

Abelas shook his head dismissively. “There may be places the shemlen have not touched. It may be that only Uthernera awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken. If fate is kind.” He moved once more to leave, and this time Sigrid did not stop him. But Solas had one last parting word. 

“ _ Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas. _ ” 

The sentinel treated Solas to one last long look before he left finally, leaving them all standing at the shore of the pool.

“His name,” Solas offered, watching Abelas slowly depart. “It means ‘sorrow’. I told him I hope he finds a new name.”

Morrigan stepped closer to the pool, and Sigrid followed. “You’ll note the intact Eluvian. I was correct on that count, at least.” 

“Yes, just racking up the successes,” Sigrid sneered. “Could Corypheus still use it?”

“Not without the key. And the key for this Eluvian is the Well. Take the Well and Mythal’s last Eluvian will be no more use to Corypheus than glass.” Morrigan stared down at the undisturbed water. “I did not expect the well to feel so... _ hungry _ .”

“Step away, Morrigan.” Sigrid’s voice was hard, and brooked no argument. She felt Bull step closer at her back, still silent, but more present. 

Morrigan turned to her beseechingly. “I am willing to pay the price the Well demands.”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” Sigrid said, crossing her arms over her chest. It wasn’t easy to do in full armor, but it communicated her disgust so thoroughly that she couldn’t resist. “But i just can’t shake this nagging suspicion that you still want the Well for your own ends. Can you honestly deny that?”

“I wish to stop Corypheus, at any cost. I have  _ studied _ this lore. Can you really say that there is anyone else more suited to bearing the knowledge the Well has to offer? I would use it in  _ your _ service!”

“Or more likely to your own ends,” Solas spat, his voice furious. “You are like a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast!”

Sigrid narrowed her eyes, staring at the witch intently. “I need to discuss this with people I trust,” she finally said, pointing to a point a short distance away from the Well. “mind giving us a minute?” Morrigan spluttered offendedly, but Sigrid merely raised one eyebrow and pointed a bit more emphatically. With an immensely offended air, Morrigan stepped away, allowing Bull, Solas and Cole to draw in closer. 

Sigrid relaxed as soon as the three of them surrounded her, groaning and rubbing her hands over her face. Bull laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, and she straightened, looking at each of them in turn. Cole was the first to speak. “All those voices,” he said quietly. “In your head, all the time. I don’t think you’d like it very much. I think you should let the shadowy woman do it instead. She won’t like the voices either, but at least it will be her instead.”

Sigrid chuckled in spite of herself. Solas was the next to speak up, his voice still angry. “She is right about only one thing. We  _ should _ take the knowledge the Well has to offer.” 

Sigrid acknowledged his response, then turned to Bull. He looked at her for a long moment before speaking. “Do I really need to say it,  _ kadan _ ?”

“No, but I still need to hear it.”

“I don’t trust her. But I also don’t want to risk losing you to the power in this Well. The Qunari are really good at giving people the jobs that they’re best suited for, and I can’t deny that the witch is more likely to know what to do with a shit-ton of ancient elven knowledge. That answer your question?”

Sigrid frowned to herself, staring at Morrigan where she loitered angrily out of earshot. Then she turned to Solas, opening her mouth to ask the question that had been floating in her mind for some time. But he stopped her with a raised hand. “No. Do not even ask me.” Sigrid raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Finally, with an immense sigh, she called to Morrigan. 

“I’m going to have a few requirements from you.” Morrigan’s face lit up, which almost made Sigrid reconsider her decision, but she pressed on. “First, you will do everything in your power to record as much of the knowledge of the Well as possible. If you need more people to assist you with that, the Inquisition can offer you those people. I will not let the entirety of this knowledge walk away with you and not get anything in return.”

“That is acceptable.”

“That’s good, because it wasn’t a fucking option.” Bull choked down a laugh as Sigrid continued. “And second, fewer lies and half-truths please. I don’t want to dance around the answers I want, I just want you to give them. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I honestly don’t have time for your games any more. Now go take a bath, or whatever it is you need to do.” Sigrid stepped back, leaving Morrigan standing alone at the edge of the pool once more. 

The wave of water that washed over them was, unfortunately, very normal, wet water. Sigrid struggled to her feet, dripping and thoroughly irritated. Morrigan rose from the center of the pool, blue lights flickering around her just as a scream of rage echoed across the canyon. Corypheus himself soared into the air, making straight for them. 

“The eluvian!” Morrigan shouted, and the surface of the mirror rippled to life. They ran for it, Sigrid standing at the side of the immense mirror and ushering her followers through its surface. Corypheus was rapidly approaching as Morrigan leapt through, Sigrid flinging herself into it just before it snapped shut. They tumbled into the dark side room in Skyhold, the eluvian Morrigan had snuck into her castle finally proving its worth. Bull caught her as she flew through, steadying her as Morrigan closed the eluvian with a gesture. 

“Well, that was wildly successful.” Sigrid said, trying to ignore the fact that she was still soaking wet and now dripping onto the flagstones. 


	30. Chapter 30

“Hey,  _ kadan _ ?” Bull eased the heavy wooden door open slowly, it’s well-oiled hinges swinging silently into the cavernous war room. He swept the room once, endlessly on alert against threats to him or to his beloved Inquisitor. It was, like most places in the fortress they called home, safe. Mid-afternoon sunlight lit the motes of dust that floated through the air, glittering like gold in their endless swirls and whorls. The leaded glass windows cast diamond-patterned shadows the length of the room, including across the sprawled back of the sleeping Inquisitor who still sat at the table, though her head was pillowed in her arm as she snored lightly. 

Bull stopped on the opposite side of the table, folding his arms over his chest and smiling softly to himself. He always thought that Sigrid was beautiful, but here and now, with the golden light spilling over her rich brown skin, highlighting her dark, messy hair, he was struck once more by just how much he loved her. He wrapped one large fist around the dragon’s tooth necklace that lived always against his heart, breathing in the scent of her that swirled through the room around her. The bite of iron, the crispness of a mountain stream, the dust of a cold fire, and the wild aroma of lotus. She smelled like cold rage and danger. Bull thought it was pretty damn hot, honestly.

He approached her quietly, keenly aware of the hilt of the knife he could just see peeking out of the fist that hid beneath her chin. She didn’t wake gracefully, his Siggy. Nor did she sleep particularly easily, most days. He kneeled down and eased one hand gently over her shoulder, the stumps of his mangled fingers just brushing her neck. “ _ Kadan, _ ” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over her shoulder. “Siggy. Hey, you know, if you don’t like  _ your _ bed…”

She started into wakefulness suddenly, and Bull’s free hand caught her wrist with a slap as the blade she’d been sleeping on snapped towards his neck with brutal accuracy. 

“Nice catch,” she said by way of apology, letting her grip on the short dagger loosen. 

Bull chuckled, plucking the knife from her hand before bringing it to his lips for a lingering kiss. “I’ve had plenty of practice lately.”

Sigrid yawned widely, freeing her hand to stretch, arching her back to loosen the worst of the tension. Bull stared shamelessly at her chest as she did, admiring the way her simple shirt tightened across her breasts as she shifted. Sigrid caught him staring and grinned back, pausing halfway through her stretch. “Like what you see?” she asked teasingly, lowering her arms slowly. 

“Always,” Bull rumbled, leaning in to kiss her roughly, capturing the back of her head with one hand, the other unerringly finding it’s way under the hem of her shirt. 

Sigrid laughed lightly against his mouth. “This is such a lovely way to be woken up,” she murmured, draping her arms over his shoulders. “Is this all you needed, or were you looking for me for some other reason?”

He leaned away, excitement sparking in his dark eyes. “Actually, yes.” He pulled her to her feet, leading her out of the war room.

“Bull, I need to get-”

“Your papers can wait. I’m sure Josie will have someone bring them to you.  _ Later _ .” Bull said, tossing a grin over his shoulder to the ambassador as they passed. Sigrid threw a helpless shrug at Josephine while Bull continued to drag her away. Josephine blushed and stammered out her assertions that she would do precisely that, while trying not to stare or think too hard about where Bull and the Inquisitor were headed. 

Bull led Sigrid up the stairs to her own rooms, where spools of brilliant red ropes and scraps of beautifully patterned blue-green fabric waited on her bed. Sigrid raised an eyebrow at them two piles as they came to a stop. “More rope? Don’t you think we have enough?”

“Just… wait. These are something else,  _ kadan _ .” He added a pile of armor that had been dumped on the floor to her bed, then gestured at her. “Now, take your clothes off.”

~~~

“This seems positively  _ scandalous _ , and that’s coming from  _ me _ .” Sigrid stood perfectly still as Bull sat on the ground in front of her and meticulously tied foot after foot of rope around her hips, her chest and arms already bound in a complex web of knots. The gear he was slowly working her into was stunning, there was no question about that. She could see herself in the full-length mirror he’d convinced her to bring up some time ago, for purposes  _ other _ than admiring her own fashion choices. ( _ “It’s so much hotter to see yourself all bound up in a mirror, kadan. Trust me, it’ll be great.” _ ) Her midriff was left bare, her breasts wrapped in a length of the patterned fabric, which was secured with a torque of woven knots at her neck. The ropes around her arms strained against her muscles as she flexed, but they did nothing to impede her movement. It felt... _ good _ . It also felt really fucking hot. She said as much to Bull.

He laughed as he tied the last of the knots at her hips, draping over the loose trousers she wore slung low around her hips. “Yeah, it tends to do that.” He ran his fingers over his handiwork, admiring both the knotwork he’d completed and the body it contained. He gently traced the ragged scar in her abdomen from the blow she took in the Hissing Wastes. It shone white against her dark skin, and reminded Bull daily of what he had to be thankful for, once again. Then with a lascivious grin up at Sigrid from where he still sat, he leaned forward and licked one long swipe up from her navel to just below her breasts. 

Sigrid shuddered, heat instantly pooling in her core. She shook herself as she tried to focus on the questions still precariously held in her mind. “This seems completely impractical for actually fighting in,” she said, determinedly looking away from where Bull was still grinning up at her. “My range of motion is great, but I’m not protected for shit.”

Bull nodded in agreement. “It’s really more for show,” he agreed, rising and picking up a few pieces of armor from her bed. “These are a little more useful, but still more ornamental.” 

Sigrid caught the pauldrons he tossed her, and stared doubtfully at the piece of woven, stiffened leather that he insisted would keep anyone from gutting her. “Again…” Sigrid muttered darkly. “But what about all  _ that _ ?” She asked, pointing at the second pile of armor and rope still lying on her bed. 

Bull turned back to her with a grin. “Those are  _ mine _ ,” he proclaimed, striding back with a long coil of rope held in one hand.

~~~

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Sigrid muttered through her teeth. “You made this look so easy, you brute.” Sigrid was attempting to wrap Bull’s bulging arms in his own lattice of rope, admittedly with his step-by-step guidance, but she kept fumbling the knots halfway through and losing them. 

“It takes practice,  _ kadan _ ,” Bull insisted. “You’re doing fine. Also, I have such a lovely view from here.” He wasn’t looking at her face, clearly. From where he was sitting, Sigrid’s chest was almost perfect at eye level for his single, roving eye. Sigrid rolled her own eyes as she finally tied the last knot at his shoulder. She traced her fingernails lightly across his back as she walked around him once to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. 

“How’s it feel?” she asked, frowning at a knot that she knew could have been tighter.

“A little harder.”

“The  _ rope _ , you rutting bastard.”

“Oh, right. Uh,” he raised his arms, rolling his shoulders and flexing. “Pretty good. You’ll get better with more practice.”

“Hmph.” Sigrid folded her arms over her chest as Bull rose to his feet once more. “Now will you tell me what this is all for? Why do I need absurd, decorative Qunari armor?”

“Absurdly  _ hot _ ,” Bull insisted, reaching out suddenly to pull Sigrid against his rope and leather wrapped chest. He traced the path of one long strand of rope up her arm to where it wrapped around the back of her neck. “These ropes, this armor, the patterns in the knots. They tell everyone that you’re  _ mine _ ,” he growled, his voice possessive and fierce. “No one will doubt that every inch of you belongs to me.” Bull caught her chin on one hand, leaning down to graze his teeth along her neck, the delicate skin showing every throb of her pulse as he traced its length with his sharp teeth. 

“And who, exactly, are we proclaiming my status to?” Sigrid asked, winding her fingers into the roped that crossed over Bull’s shoulders. But before she could really get a grip on him, he stepped away, leaving the chill of her room to fill the space where he’d been a moment ago. Sigrid looked at him in concern as he turned away from her. “Bull?” His sudden change in demeanor had her concerned. “What is it?” She forced a laugh as he turned away from her fully, rubbing one stiff hand against the back of his neck. “If it’s some ex-lover, don’t worry about it. The kitchen maids and I still get along fine, and I know you-”

“It’s not… That’s not it.”

“What the hell, Bull? This isn’t like you.” Sigrid stepped forward and turned him around to face her again. “Who’s coming here?” she asked fiercely. “What do you know?”

Bull took a deep breath, an apology forming in his gaze before he even opened his mouth. 

“Your father.”


	31. Chapter 31

Sigrid froze, her flushed skin instantly chilled. 

Her father. 

She knew it would only be a matter of time, but it had been nearly two years since she’d become Inquisitor. Surely if he hadn’t come already, he wasn’t coming at all. But leave it to her father to do things on his own timeline. She could feel the cold spreading through her bones, the icy rage that filled her body every time she was forced to interact with the man. 

It took her a few moments to realize that Bull was talking to her, crouched down to look her in the eye. “ _ Kadan _ ?” he was saying, a hot hand laid on her shoulder. Kadan. That was a name she responded to. Not  _ bitch _ or  _ whore _ or  _ disgrace _ . Those were names she would never again bear. Kadan. That’s what she was. Sigrid blinked, looking at Bull as if from a great distance. 

“When.” It wasn’t a question, not really. 

Bull was frightened, genuinely concerned as he looked into her eyes. Something in her had broken the second he’d told her. “Three days,” he said simply, hands anchoring her by the shoulders. 

“That’s not very long.”

“No, it’s not.”

Sigrid took a long deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut as she let it out in a rush. When she opened them again, she was more herself. “I’m going to sit down,” she said suddenly, sinking into the armchair next to the fire. Bull pulled the footstool close to sit directly in front of her. Sigrid leaned over to hang her head between her knees, her breathing carefully controlled. Bull reached out and placed his hands on her knees, tenderly, carefully, as if the wrong movement might break her. 

“What do you need?” he asked quietly.

“Information,” Sigrid said, raising her head and leaning back in her chair. “How do you know this?”

“I was Ben-Hassrath. I still have connections.”

“How long have you been watching my father?”

“I haven’t been  _ watching _ him, exactly. I just asked a few people in Ostwick to let me know if he did anything we might need to know about.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this earlier? And who else knows?” 

“Because I didn’t find out until this morning. And as far as I know, no one.”

“Leliana?”

“I don’t think she would have kept this from you, Siggy.”

“No, you’re right.” Sigrid sighed. “Why did it take so long to hear that he’d left Ostwick?”

“Not sure,” Bull admitted. “From what I can figure out, he left the city  _ very _ quietly one night. it wasn’t until someone passed by the estate that they realized he wasn’t there. That’s when they discovered he’d been spotted on the road to us.”

“Are we sure he’s coming here?”

“Do you have any  _ other _ family living in the Frostbacks?”

“Good point.” Sigrid was staring into the fire, frowning. “Is he alone?”

“No.”

“Who’s with him?”

“I don’t know.”

Sigrid nodded her acceptance of that information. She sat silently for a few minutes, and Bull could see wheels turning in her head. “I need you to do some things for me.”

“Anything.”

~~~

“Update me, Leliana.” Sigrid was pacing the railing in the spymaster’s aerie, the raven cages quiet and largely empty. 

“We reached the scout in the village at the base of the mountains. Sending messages via magic is tricky and not particularly easy for either party, but Dorian figured something out for us. She will intercept your father’s party by tonight and send us as much as she can about who is traveling with him. I have my best operatives placed in positions all over the castle, so wherever you might be, someone will be there who could assist you, should the need arise. The commander is readying an honor guard for you, which will consist of only the best of his soldiers. I hear Ser Barris specifically requested to lead the group, a request that Cullen eagerly granted,” Leliana added with a grin, then continued. “Josephine is doing her best to ready a proper reception for your father. We’re assuming this will give us a slight upper hand, as your father likely assumed he would arrive here unannounced and entirely unexpected and have us at his mercy.”

“That’s exactly what he hoped,” Sigrid growled, stopping to grip the balcony railing with both hands, digging her nails into the unforgiving wood. “I have one last request, Leliana.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

Sigrid turned to look at her spymaster, a vicious expression on her face. “I know you know my story, we went over that all a long time ago. What I did before I fell out of the Fade, where I went, what I witnessed.”

Leliana nodded, a vague expression of confusion on her face. 

“Is that Kirkwall throne still in storage somewhere?” 

A slow grin spread over Leliana’s face. “I’ll have it brought up immediately, my friend.”

~~~

It was the early hours of the next morning before Sigrid finally stumbled back to her rooms, exhausted in every possible way. Bull was waiting for her, and wrapped her in his arms before she could even say a word. Sigrid just stood limp, cradled in his embrace. 

“Bull.” Her voice was rough, her tone harsher than she’d intended. 

He sighed, having a good idea where this conversation was going to go. “I’m sorry,  _ kadan _ .”

“Why didn’t you just  _ tell  _ me? Why all the games with the ropes and the armor first?”

“Siggy, listen. I was already on my way to get you when I got the message. And then when I saw that you were asleep, I didn’t want that to be the first thing you had to deal with.”

“Bull, we could have had precious hours to work with. Every hour counts in getting this place ready to deal with that asshole.”

Bull shook his head, holding her out at arm’s length to look her in the eye. “ _ Kadan _ , I know you. In  _ every _ sense of the word.” Sigrid rolled her eyes but let him continue. “When Krem came running up to me with that scrap of parchment in his hand, I knew I had to make a decision. Do I spring the news on you and hope you can handle it, or do I put you in the right mood to be able to  _ deal  _ with the news? You felt powerful, confident,  _ sexy as hell _ ,” he purred pulling her back against his chest. “And you were able to handle this like the Inquisitor, not the daughter of Bann Trevelyan. Because that’s not who you are anymore. You’re Inquisitor Trevelyan, not that bastard’s property.”

Sigrid took a few deep breaths, remaining silent. Then she slowly raised her arms to wrap them around Bull, feeling some of the tension slide from her limbs. “Alright,” she said in cautious agreement. They stood that way for a few minutes before Sigrid spoke again. “Hey Bull?”

“Yeah?”

“Think we can find another use for these ropes tonight?”

Bull reached down and picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. “I think we can do that,” he replied, walking them both farther into the room before he began confidently shifting the knots of her already scandalous gear into something that her father would have  _thoroughly_ disapproved of...


	32. Chapter 32

“He’s crossing the bridge now, my lady.” 

“Thank you, Ritts. I appreciate your help with this.”

“Of course, my lady. I’ll be at the table on the left, if you need me.” The scout descended the dais, her borrowed finery allowing her to blend in with the nobles assembled around the tables in the Great Hall. Sigrid knew that a significant portion of the assembled ‘nobles’ were really Leliana’s agents, along with a few of Bull’s Chargers, who wore their disguises uncomfortably but with enthusiasm. She herself sat upon the hulking stone monolith that had been brought from a lower storeroom just for the occasion. It was far from comfortable, not like the much more sedate wood throne that Sigrid favored. But she didn’t want to be comfortable. Not today. 

Today she was power and fury and control. She was once again clad in Bull’s Qunari finery, and he stood at her side in his own gear, the two of them a terrifying sight arrayed above all else in the hall. On her other side Ser Barris stood at attention, with her honor guard in formation before the dais. Altogether a rather intimidating sight, and exactly what Sigrid wanted.

“You ready for this, Siggy?” Bull asked quietly from her side. 

“As ready as I can be,” she responded, fidgeting in her seat. “I’m just ready to get this over with.” She ran her hands over the names she’d personally carved into the arms of the throne, beginning right beneath her hands. The names of those she’d lost in Kirkwall, and in the war since. A reminder. 

And so she waited, listening carefully over the chatter and crackling fires that filled the room that stretched out before her. The brilliantly colored stained glass behind her cast equally colorful patterns over the floor, patterns that Sigrid watched shift slightly over the steps of the dais before she heard the clatter of footsteps before the great wooden doors of the hall. 

That was all it took for her entire demeanor to shift. Bull watched as her limbs took on a lazy, languid grace, and she threw one leg over the other, leaning casually against the cold stone arm of her throne as if it were the finest velvet from Val Royeaux. 

Her father pushed through the doors the next second, flanked by both Josephine and Cullen and trailed by his own coterie. He was a tall man, not large, but with an undeniable air of power. And as he drew closer, one of menace. Something in the set of his face was simply cruel, and even if Bull had known nothing about the man’s character, he knew he would have instantly disliked him. 

Bann Trevelyan strode down the hall, ignoring Josephine’s chatter about the restoration of the Great Hall, the decor, the stained glass, and cutting her off as she attempted to announce him to the waiting Inquisitor. He came to a halt before Sigrid’s guard, his eyes raking over the immense throne that towered over him. His mouth twisted into disdain as he took it all in, finally coming to rest on the woman seated at the base of the monolith. The room had grown silent behind him as he approached, and now that silence stretched out to an uncomfortable length. A collection of awkward coughs and hushed whispers echoed through the room before his loud, brassy voice finally broke the silence. 

“Leader of the largest military force on the continent, and this is how you choose to greet me, dressed like a cheap whore?”

Bull and Barris both flinched, and Bull even took a half step forward, a low growl beginning in his throat. Sigrid stopped him with one lazy hand. 

“I have many titles, ser. Inquisitor, My Lady, Your Worship if you’re feeling particularly pious. Unfortunately ‘whore’ isn’t one of them.” Her voice was matter-of-fact and unemotional, though her gaze was icy. 

“Well then  _ Inquisitor _ . I’ve come to speak to my daughter, if she’s still here,” he added snidely. “Since she couldn’t be bothered for the past two years to tell me that she was still alive.” 

Sigrid tightened her hands on the arms of her throne, feeling the names press into her flesh. One name in particularly burned against her palm, leading the column of dead that marched down her right arm. “Your daughter  _ did _ die, you shit-eating bastard, a fact that you seem content to ignore for the rest of your miserable life” she spat out. She ignored Josephine’s gasp of horror as she raised her arm to point at the carved stone over her head. “She died in this fucking city, where  _ you sent her _ .” Sigrid rose from her chair, stepping forward to glare at her father from the top of the steps. “She was the only daughter you had worth loving, and you threw her away like  _ trash _ . You degraded and abused her until she fought back, and then you just sent her away and pretended like she’d never existed. And then it was  _ my turn _ to face your anger and abuse,  _ father _ .” She turned away, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. This was not how she’d wanted to begin this interchange, but it was too late to change that now. “Ambassador Montilyet and Commander Rutherford can show you and your friends to your rooms. We’ll speak later.”

Sigrid didn’t turn back around as she listened to Josephine usher her father towards the guest quarters. Instead she stared straight ahead, leaving only Bull and Ser Barris to watch as tears streamed silently down her stony face.

~~~

The Great Hall had been rearranged in the course of an afternoon to host a formal dinner, the smaller trestle tables moved away to make room for a single long table that occupied the center of the room, it’s entire length set with the finest settings they could find on such short notice. Guests were formally announced as they entered, and the table was almost completely full by the time Sigrid’s father strode in. 

“Bann Marcus Trevelyan, of Ostwick,” the man at the door proclaimed. Another of Leliana’s best, a man with a memory for names, faces and titles that was unmatched. The perfect place for him for the night’s festivities. Marcus paused just inside the entry to survey the table. All of Sigrid’s companions were already seated, grouped in pairs around the table. Leliana was there, as was Cullen. Josephine was bustling into her own seat, having seen to the last of the preparations for this hastily prepared meal. Sigrid’s father had been placed near enough to her to still be considered polite, but not quite close enough to actually carry on conversation. That buffer zone would be occupied by Bull, one of Ser Barris’ men, and of all people, Morrigan. His own companions were scattered down the lower end of the table, not a one of them seated next to another. Not anything to be concerned about, merely an annoyance and a clear and deliberate slight against him and his presence. The remaining guests trickled in soon after, every seat occupied but the one at the head of the table between the enormous gray-skinned Qunari and the slim red-headed woman. Marcus sighed impatiently, waiting for his daughter to make her grand entrance. He tired of her games already. 

Sigrid was, in fact, waiting to be the last into the room. Not just for dramatic impact, but to ensure that all the dinner guests were inside before Cullen’s carefully selected soldiers took up their positions outside the Great Hall, where they would wait in the event they were needed. An event that Sigrid genuinely hoped to avoid. Nothing frightened well-dressed nobles quite like armed guards, and Sigrid wanted to avoid frightening her guests unless absolutely necessary. So when the quiet signal came from one of the soldiers positioned in the shallow vestibule, Sigrid swept out of a side room and into the hall, approaching the table from the opposite end as her own seat. 

The firelight flickering through the room hit her dress and exploded, casting flecks of light over the entire room and drawing every eye to her The body of the dress was of the deepest black, rich velvet that hugged her every curve. But sewn into it like cascading stars were countless glittering gems in shades of white and gold, falling from the dense shimmer around the high neck to the light dusting of stars near the floor. The dress left her shoulders and arms uncovered, baring her muscled, scar-crossed skin to all who looked. Sigrid wore no gloves, allowing the green glow of the mark embedded in her left hand to flicker freely. She was every inch the leader of the Inquisition, fierce and beautiful and powerful. A force to be feared and adored by all who gazed upon her. 

She made her way down the table, offering quiet greetings to those she passed. Nobles and soldiers alike beamed at her, their eyes alight with the love they held for their leader. Here was a table of people who would gladly give their lives in her service. Her path took her down the opposite side of the table from her father, and she treated him to a long, silent look as she approached her chair. Not a word was spoken between them, but the silence was felt by everyone around them. Bull rose gracefully from his own seat to pull out hers, offering his hand to lower her into her place of honor at the head of the table. Sigrid thanked him quietly, her hand and her gaze lingering on his far longer than was appropriate. A fact that her father noted and filed away for later use.

“Thank you for your attendance, all,” Sigrid called out, her voice confident and carrying through the room. “We are grateful for your continued loyalty to the Inquisition, and extend to you our most heartfelt thanks. Please enjoy tonight’s dinner and festivities.” With that simple introduction, platters of food were carried through a narrow side door by a host of servants. And so the dinner began, and the varied pieces of two very different plans began their slow dance. 


	33. Chapter 33

Dinner was a more festive affair than most formal meals with influential world powers. Sigrid had a word or a laugh for everyone who approached her, ever the gracious host and approachable leader.

Bull watched her with wonder, struck once again by the thought that the woman he loved would have given even the best Ben-Hassrath a run for their money. She was grace and poise and pretty manners, none of which were things that Bull would have attributed to her a mere three days ago. Every graceful line of her body, politely worded compliment and tasteful joke was a lie, a lie she wore as well as she wore that dress.

Then Bull found himself distracted for a few moments by thoughts of Sigrid in that dress. And out of it.

Her father was another story. Marcus Trevelyan was a study in tension and barely concealed anger, his gaze roving the table with disdain and settling regularly on his daughter, at which point his eyes darkened and his face smoothed into a controlled expression that silently screamed ‘danger’ to Bull. The man had a plan here, and Bull was very sure it was a plan that none of them would enjoy.

~~~

Marcus made a brief attempt to make polite conversation with the people seated around him. But the female apostate mage to his left seemed to be constantly whispering to herself, and had a distressing tendency to answer his questions before he asked them. To his right sat a large bearded man who smelled like he lived in a barn and seemed content to laugh loudly at everything the blonde elven woman beside him said. Opposite him sat another elf, this one a man who wore, of all things, the jawbone of a wolf on a leather cord around his neck and seemed content to simply stare at Marcus all evening without saying a word.

So it was with genuine relief that Marcus stood up from the table once the dinner was cleared away, making room for a small host to rapidly disassemble the large table and move it out of the room, which was rapidly rearranged for music and dancing to continue the evening. Marcus idly noted the fact that the gray skinned Qunari escorted his daughter to the throne that still stood at the head of the room, then lifted and carried out an eight-foot length of the heavy wooden table as if it weighed no more than a sack of grain.

Sigrid entertained a few inquiring guests while the room was rearranged, always keeping a cautious eye on her father. He left the table with no small amount of relief, casually making his way towards where his companions had gathered. Sigrid recognized only one of them, a man she recalled visiting their home often when she was a child. He was roughly the same age as her father, and had never had much interest in children, content instead to sequester himself with her father in his study where they would stay late into the night on many an occasion. The rest of the seven men and women with her father were strangers to her, though they all had the look of Ostwick nobles and seemed well acquainted with each other. Why he’d chosen who he’d chosen was a mystery to her, but a mystery she hoped to get some answers to very shortly.

Because the nobles and eager young soldiers who gathered to speak to her while the room was being prepared were five of the agents Sigrid and Leliana had placed at the table beside her father’s companions, close enough to carry out polite conversation throughout the meal and learn as much as they could about who these people were that he father had led all the way out here to see her.

_“Lady Marguerite Ashworth, of Ostwick. Widowed under highly questionable circumstances, holds a sizable estate and a significant share in the illegal lyrium trade.”_

_“Ser Arturo Marcelo… something unpronounceable, sorry. Late of Antiva, now captain of the guard in Ostwick. Clearly has a drinking problem, and gets talkative around his fourth glass of wine. Seems to believe he’s here as your father’s personal guard, though how he expects to hold a sword in his current condition is beyond me…”_

And so it continued, every one of their guests identities passed on to Sigrid, and not a small amount of gossip and blackmail as well. Ritts was the last one to approach Sigrid, and the petite woman looked concerned.

Sigrid reached out with both hands, a wide smile on her face, for all intents and purposes appearing to simply be greeting the woman with enthusiasm and warmth. Ritts had abandoned her noblewoman’s finery from earlier in the day for perfectly polished armor, the sigil of the Inquisition shining on her chest. To the dinner guests, she was no more than an eager, young elven soldier excited to have received an invitation to such as exciting dinner.

In reality she was one of Leliana’s finest agents, and came bearing vitally important information. “Inquisitor,” she began, bowing politely.

“Ritts,” she responded, inclining her head. “How was dinner?” Sigrid kept her mask in place, looking at Ritts with a very convincing vaguely motherly fondness.

“It was… enlightening.” Ritt’s dropped her voice while continuing to gesture animatedly, so that anyone observing her where she stood directly in front of Sigrid would think she was speaking with enthusiasm, rather than in the pitched, fast-paced tone she was using to confer her information. “The tall man with the black and gray hair is an old friend of your father’s, had a number of stories of you as a child.” Ritts hesitated, obviously considering her words. “Apologies, my lady, but they weren’t kind stories. Punishments inflicted on you by your father for your ‘misbehavior’. His words. He spoke highly of your father, as a man of stature and a ‘pillar of righteousness’. Again, his words.” Another pause, this one hesitant. “And I’m almost positive that he’s a mage.”

It took all of Sigrid’s self control to keep her mask from slipping. “Impossible. My father hates magic and distrusts mages beyond all rational thought.”

“That may be so, but the man is almost certainly a mage. He has that smell, kind of like lightning, and his hands have the same pattern of callouses as mages who use a staff. I’m very, very sure, Inquisitor.” Sigrid nodded slowly, standing to follow the young woman down onto the now prepared dance floor. With a gesture, she signaled for the band to begin playing and made her way to Bull.

He’d been waiting for her at a small well-lit table that had been set aside for her use only. Ser Barris and another templar stood guard at either side, and Bull sat in one of the two seats arranged on either side. It offered them a good view of the dancers, and offered their guests an unobstructed view of the Inquisitor, so that no matter where they were in the room, they could know precisely where she was. Sigrid’s presence was undeniable, and that was exactly how she wanted it. She sank gracefully into the empty chair across from Bull, reaching out to grasp his hand across the table. She needed his touch for a moment, the only honest thing in the room right now, the only contact now funneled through a web of lies and deceit. For her, Bull was simple and honest and _right_ , and she needed a little more of that before she threw herself into the fray once more.

He rubbed his thumb gently over the back of her hand, interrupting his surveillance of the dance floor to look at her for a brief second. “Enjoying your evening, _kadan_?” he asked quietly.

“ _Immensely_ ,” she replied, a hard edge lining her voice.

“Hear anything interesting?”

“Too much and not enough.”

“You ever consider becoming a Bard?”

Sigrid looked at him and laughed, a ringing peal of laughter that carried through the room. “Me? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m being completely serious,” Bull insisted, leaning in closer. “Everything you’ve done tonight, _kadan_. It’s genius.”

Sigrid just chuckled again, rising to her feet and tugging Bull along to follow. “I think one spy in this relationship is more than enough. Now dance with me, you giant cow.”

He followed without complaint, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her much closer to himself than the dance called for.

~~~

Marcus Trevelyan wasn’t dancing. He had danced, of course, one or two trips around the floor, just enough to not seem unforgivably rude. Now he was content to watch.

His daughter hadn’t approached him even once all evening, and his anger at being so publicly snubbed simmered hot just beneath the surface of his disinterested veneer. He would wait, but not for much longer. There were words that needed to be said before the evening was over, and Marcus was going to make sure he was the one to say them.

He watched in disapproving silence as his daughter danced with the towering ox-man. There was clearly a relationship there, and if his daughter was anything like she used to be, she was undoubtedly sleeping with the brute as well. The thought repulsed him, and he was still frowning to himself over the thought when he sensed someone stop at his side.

“Sir.” The tall man Ritts had spoken of stood at his side, hands folded behind his back and eyes looking at everything and nothing at the same time. “The Qunari may pose a problem.”

“Not at all, Luther.” Marcus replied. “He’s entirely devoted to her. He wouldn’t dare do anything that might harm her.”

The man, Luther, made an unconvinced noise. “I still think we should be cautious around him.”

“You do whatever you feel is necessary,” Marcus replied. “I trust you to do the job you’ve been given, no matter the obstacles.”

“Of course, my lord,” he replied with a small bow.

“Good man.” Marcus patted him on the shoulder as he turned to leave. “Not much longer to wait. We’ll be done here before dawn and on our way home.”

~~~

Ritts waited, her lungs near bursting with the breaths she hadn't dared to breathe, until both men had departed to different areas of the dance floor before she slipped out from behind one of the immense statues lining the walls of the hall, her heart racing as she made her way ever so casually to the nearest possible person she could trust with what she’d just heard.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bringing us closer with a short chapter this morning...

Not the strange witch with the equally strange habit of whispering to voices only she could hear.

Not the other mage, the bald elf who seemed to always know more than he should.

Dorian was too far away, charming a group of nobles. 

Sera couldn’t be trusted to respond quietly.

Blackwall, Cassandra, Vivienne, each one dismissed as Ritts scanned the room hurriedly. 

The Inquisitor danced with The Iron Bull, and there would be no good way for her to interrupt that without drawing undue attention. 

Ritts could feel every second ticking away, a countdown to a confrontation that she knew about only in whispers and half-spoken implications. But she was certain it boded ill for everyone in the room, and she was even more certain that she needed to warn someone as soon as possible. 

She turned away, hoping to make her way carefully around the room to Ser Barris, exactly the kind of person she could trust to handle what she had to say with the gravity he used to handle everything else. But she came to a sudden halt as she nearly collided with the slim, shadowed form of Cole.

“You’re very loud,” he said simply, his head cocked to the side as his pale eyes gazed into her own. “And you need someone to talk to. I’m a very good listener.”

Ritts released a sigh of relief. Cole was a strange young man, but she’d grown to value him and trust him during her time with the Inquisition. He always arrived when he was needed, and could be trusted to carry out the most delicate of tasks with a seriousness that seemed at odds with his apparent youth. So it was with no small amount of relief that Ritts took his arm in her own and began leading him slowly and casually around the perimeter of the dance floor, making her way closer and closer to where Ser Barris stood guard. 

“Hello, Cole,” she began, strolling at his side. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

“No. There are too many voices. I hear them all, all at once, and it’s very hard to find the ones with the most important things to say.”

“Well I’m glad you heard me,” Ritts said sincerely. “Because I have very important things to tell you.”

“Yes,” Cole said, nodding. “Danger, the kind that sneaks in under the cover of a smaller danger. Everyone needs to know, but on in the right way. Panic, people, hurting and helping,  _ more death, always death upon death with these people _ .” Ritts’ breath caught in her throat as Cole spoke, but she knew he spoke only the truths he pulled from her own mind. “Yes, those  _ are  _ very important things.” Cole began to take the lead, cutting more directly through the crowd than Ritts would have liked. 

“Cole, wait-”

“I can make people not see me,” he interrupted. “And I think, if you stay with me, I can make them not see you too.”

And as Ritts looked around, that seemed to be exactly what was happening. They wove delicately through the party-goers, headed straight for Ser Barris, and not a single person appeared to note their passing. Almost before she knew it, they were standing before the alert templar, confusion registering on his face at what was likely their very sudden, very quiet arrival. 

Ritts barely let him compose himself before she began telling him what she’d heard in a low, rushed whisper. His face grew carefully blank as she continued, though she watched as his hand inched ever closer to the sword sheathed on his hip. Only the Inquisitor’s guards had been permitted to be armed. Openly, of course. Ritts herself had stashed a few things beneath her skirts, and she had no doubt that others had likewise hidden their own array of weapons. 

“We need to tell her,” Ritts said, looking at where the Inquisitor now danced with Commander Cullen. 

“I can.” Cole still stood at her side, silent, listening. Ritts looked up at Ser Barris, who she knew to still distrust the young man. But to her relief, he nodded his own approval. Cole slipped away soundlessly, disappearing into the crowd. 

“Now what?” Ritts asked Ser Barris. “What do we do?”

“We wait,” he said simply. “The Inquisitor has a plan. I just hope she can still pull it off.”

~~~

Sigrid was laughing at something Cullen had said as they danced when she caught sight of Cole out of the corner of her eye. He stood completely ignored on the edge of the dance floor. Sigrid stomach sank to the floor. She knew, looking at the young man who had made it so that only she could see him, that he bore no good news for her. 

She had just turned back to Cullen to begin gently steering him towards Cole when she felt a concussive wave sweep through the room. And just that simply, Cullen went entirely limp in her arms, collapsing to the floor and nearly taking her down with him. Sigrid could see and hear all around her the sound of bodies hitting the floor, and the shocked gasps of the few who remained standing. She looked up from Cullen’s prone form to gaze along the shining edges of three swords, every one of them leveled at her throat. And on the opposite end of the center blade stood her father, his face split in a pleased grin. 

“I think it’s time we talked, my dear.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another one, because you guys deserve so much more than just 900 words today...   
> I love every single one of you guys, your comments, your kudos, just the fact that you read this at all. You all are the reason I still work on this, even when the rest of my life is crazy and hectic and busy.   
> Seriously. I have the best readers I could possibly have asked for.

Sigrid looked down at the Commander in her lap, his head loosely cradled in her arms. He was still breathing, albeit shallowly. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. They were never supposed to have the advantage. She was going to stay one step ahead of her father all night. But now she sat on the floor surrounded by the unconscious bodies of nearly every one of her allies. How had they…

_ There _ . Sigrid pushed aside the fur collar of Cullen’s cloak, revealing the rest of the smudge just visible beneath his left ear. Blood. She wiped at it, disregarding the men and the swords still pointed at her. Not his blood, she realized with a sinking feeling. Where it flaked off his skin beneath was raw and looked burned. She slowly raised her gaze to her father once more. “ _ Blood magic? _ ” she asked in shock. “You of all people are working with a blood mage?”

Her father laughed, a dark, cruel sound. “I’m working with whoever can help me end you and your  _ Inquisition _ , daughter.” He lowered his sword and snaked an arm out, grabbing her by the throat and hauling her to her feet. Cullen’s head thudded weakly against the ground as she was jerked upright to look her father in the eyes. “Methods no longer matter, only results. The Elder One wants only  _ results. _ ” Sigrid clutched at his wrist, her breath coming in short, painful gasps around the grip he still held on her throat. He watched her struggle for a few seconds more, unadulterated malice glowing in his eyes, until he tossed her casually but with more strength than a man his size should possess, to the ground and across the slick floor. Sigrid hit hard and slid, coming to rest against Blackwall’s unconscious body. 

Her ears were ringing, her vision blurred around the edges, but she raised her head when she heard the incoherent growl from somewhere to her right. Bull stood between two people, one a man who had accompanied her father, the other a tall older man wearing the uniform of one of her own scouts. Both had swords pressed into Bull’s neck, his skin dimpled beneath the sharp tips. She watched as her own man pulled back his blade just enough to drive a kick into the Qunari’s ankle, striking right between the metal supports of the brace he always wore. The second man drew back his own sword as Bull’s leg went limp beneath him, driving him to his knees on the hard floor. Both men leveled their blades at him once more, pressing just firmly enough to draw two thin trails of blood along his gray skin. And she could do nothing more than watch. 

She struggled to her feet as her father approached once more. “So,” she began, her voice ragged but warming up as she spoke. “Were they always really your men, or did you steal them when you got here?” She gestured around the room to where a number of men and women wearing the Inquisition insignia stood, blades held against the throats of anyone not brought down by blood magic. She noted Solas, and Leliana, as well as Krem and Ser Barris, although the latter had been, unsurprisingly, parted from his sword. At one table, Varric still sat drinking from a deep tankard, pointedly ignoring the sword leveled at him. 

“These people haven’t been yours for some time,” Marcus answered, his sword held loosely as he paced around her. “But even they didn’t know it until just now. Amazing what blood magic can do, isn’t it?” The mage responsible stepped into Sigrid’s line of sight, a corona of red-black magic twisting around the jewel-tipped staff he now carried. 

“What do you want?” Sigrid asked, folding her arms and watching her father pace. “I can’t imagine you did all this just so we could have a little chat?”

“You’re right,” he answered, continuing to pace. He moved like he  _ couldn’t  _ stand still, like he needed to maintain momentum. “I’m here to destroy you and every paltry little thing you’ve built out here in these Maker-forsaken mountains. I’m here to rip your Inquisition to shreds and then burn it to ash. And I’m here to take you, in particular, back to my Master.”

“And you think I’m just going to let you do that?” Sigrid asked. She spit at her father’s feet, then in a quick movement, slipped a hand through the slit of her skirt and pulled free the knife strapped to her leg beneath. She didn’t make it more than two steps towards her father before he signalled quickly to someone on his right. Sigrid watched in horror as one of his men drove his sword through the chest of the man he’d held hostage, a minor Ferelden noble whose name Sigrid didn’t even know. 

The man slid off the end of the sword, dead before he even hit the ground. Sigrid froze, her knife held in rigid fingers as her gaze slid back around to her father. “I will kill everyone in this room, slowly, painfully, while you watch,” he said. “And I’ll save your Qunari lover for last,” he added in a threatening whisper before backhanding her, driving her to the floor once more. “Disarm and search her,” her father instructed. The knife was ripped from her grip, and rough hands prodded her, retrieving two more knives she’d hidden under her skirt. Sigrid stayed on the floor for a few moments after the hands left her, trying to blink her vision clear. She pushed herself up, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Her head was spinning, bringing back memories of Haven and the way her head had spun similarly there. She looked over to where Bull still sat, twin swords keeping him motionless, though his eyes were filled with the same glassy rage she was sure occupied her own. 

Sigrid didn’t quite trust herself to stand, so she remained on her knees, watching as her father passed instructions on to his men. They parted, a small contingent heading for the front doors of the hall. The one in the lead reached out and turned the handle, only to be blown a dozen feet backwards and land, smoking and singed, on the floor near her father’s feet. Sigrid allowed herself a small smile. Finally, one thing that had gone right. 

“I think you’re going to find it very hard to leave this hall,” Sigrid called out, smiling through her bloodied teeth. “Because, you see, if any sort of magical attack were to happen inside these walls, a security system would be triggered, sealing this entire hall. So you’re not going to be able to break through the windows either, though I’d thoroughly enjoy watching you try.” She pushed herself to her feet, willing her vision to clear as she rose. “Now, would you like to talk?” 

“What’s to stop me from killing everyone in this room, dear daughter? It would still end your power and leave my master free to carry out his plans. I could kill every one of your incompetent leaders right here and leave your troops to flounder, leaderless, while we cut them down.” Marcus Trevelyan stood right in front of his daughter, sword still held in an increasingly twitchy grip.

Sigrid smiled once more, watching as the pieces of her plan slowly but surely dismantled her father’s own. “Are you so sure about that?” she asked quietly. She turned and nodded at Solas where he stood. With a simple wave of his hand, many of the bodies on the floor and some of those still standing began to shimmer slightly, then faded, leaving not the unconscious commander, or the spymaster, or even Blackwall, Vivienne, or Varric. In their place stood more scouts and soldiers and Chargers, Rocky still nursing an ale where Varric had appeared to sit mere moments ago. And just that simply, many of the most valuable members of the Inquisition left the board, shifting the balance of power in the room once more. 

Marcus looked around the room, his gaze furious. “I will make you  _ suffer _ for this.”

Sigrid sneered at him and dismissed him with a waved hand. “Sure, dad. Never heard that one before.” She began to pace, a tight path that kept her out of reach of most of the armed men and women in the room. “Say, do all of your henchmen know about that? The way you used to threaten me? And my sister? And my mother, your  _ wife _ ? That is, until you killed her.” Sigrid heard a gentle murmur from a few of the nobles, both those who had accompanied her father and those loyal to her. “No? You haven’t told them that story?” Sigrid raised her eyebrows at her father, who continued to stare murderously. “Mind if I do the honors?”

“Shut your mouth, you filthy whore,” her father growled, lunging at her with his sword. 

Sigrid had never learned how to swing a weapon from her father. That much was clear when one compared her technique with his. Sigrid handled a sword like it was an extension of her own body. Her father moved like it was a hindrance, something he had to fight to control. So when he lunged forward with a wild swing, Sigrid ducked down and to her left, a move that would have taken her well outside the uncontrolled attack. But she was still reeling slightly from her earlier blows, and moved slightly too slow, allowing the blade to cut deeply along the top of her right arm. Sigrid hissed in pain, but kept moving, even as her father’s men rushed in to protect him. Her own knife was slipped through the back of his belt, and she freed it and pressed it to her father’s throat, her free hand jerking his head back by the hair, even as she saw the gleam of the blades coming for her.

But to their credit, her father’s men slowed and stopped, eyes locked on the trickle of blood leaking from the cut at the edge of the razor-sharp blade. “Good men,” Sigrid said quietly. She looked over to where the mage stood, one hand raised towards her, a look of consternation on his face. “Don’t even think about it, Luther. You can’t hit me without hitting him, I know it, you know it, so just don’t.” He stared at her silently before lowering his hand again, his staff still pulsing with the power that incapacitated her allies. She figured it might be pushing it to order him to end it, so she opted for something else. 

“Now that I have all of your attention, I think it’s time for a story,” she began, her voice loud in her father’s ear. “It’s full of drama, and betrayal, and magic. All the things that make for a good story, don’t you think?” Silence was her only answer. “Me too. Now, picture a much younger Marcus Trevelyan, with a young wife, and two daughters. Marcus always wanted sons, and was endlessly displeased with the fact that he’d been cursed with only daughters, so his relationship with the girls was always a bit... _ strained _ . He was always quite fond of beatings whenever he found their behaviour distasteful, and when his eldest began to prefer lessons on swordsmanship over embroidery, he was particularly displeased. That was a beating I’ll never forget. But it was the one that showed me that I needed to learn how to fight  _ more _ , not less. And when his youngest insisted that she would never ever marry a man that he chose for her because she was going to marry for love and she loved women, well I’m sure that was a beating my sister also carried to her grave. A grave that he sent her to, in case any of you were wondering.” She looked around to see a mix of expressions in the room around her. Most of those holding swords looked either deliberately dismissive or altogether bored, with a select few beginning to show kernels of doubt. Those on the opposite end of the attacks looked more universally horrified, expressions of either pity or outright anger coloring their faces. And Sigrid wasn’t even to the really good part yet. 

“But that was least of the offenses my sister could have committed against my father’s very fragile ego. She then had the audacity to reveal that she was a  _ mage _ , when she finally lashed out against one of this man’s many, many beatings and managed to burn him and half of his study in the rush of fire she released. I was so proud of her. But my father couldn’t have been more horrified. A mage, a creature to be feared and reviled, in my father’s opinion. He couldn’t even bear the thought of letting her go to the Tower in Ostwick, where people would know that she was Bann Trevelyan’s daughter, and he had sired a  _ mage _ . Instead he hid her away from everyone, keeping her locked up like a prisoner in a dark room, where he tried his damndest to beat the magic out of her, didn’t you father?” 

Marcus remained silent, though Sigrid could feel him trembling in rage. It was a sensation she enjoyed very much. “Anyway. The one person we haven’t really mentioned yet is my mother. She was a quiet woman, polite, always had a kind word for everyone. Not a particularly attentive mother, but I think the fact that she was repeatedly beaten as a thank you for producing only daughters might have had something to do with that. And then when both daughters turned out to be flawed, imperfect creatures, she sort of retreated into herself. But eventually, she decided to do something about the fact that her youngest daughter was being kept like a prisoner in her own home. So she sent some anonymous letters, dropped some clues, and set the templars from the Tower on a trail that led straight to our house and my sister. I was happy for her, actually. Surely the Tower would be a better place than her own home. So I sent her off with tears and promises to visit whenever I could, and I watched her walk away. But I’m sure you can imagine my father’s wrath when he returned home a few days later to discover that his shame had been revealed and marched publicly through the streets. I’ll spare you most of the gory details, but my mother was found a few days later, looking for all intents and purposes like she’d thrown herself into a frozen river and drowned. But I’m going to tell you a secret,” Sigrid said, her voice deceptively light. By now nearly every face around her was at least listening, and at worst openly weeping in the case of one older noblewoman. “He killed her. Beat her to death and then threw her in the river. There was suspicion, of course, but he was Bann Marcus Trevelyan, above all reproach! There was no was anyone would openly accuse him of murdering his beautiful wife! So it slipped through the cracks of society, leaving nothing more than a widower and his one remaining daughter, who was now graced with the full force of her father’s eternal displeasure. But I wouldn’t leave, not while my sister was still in the Tower. And so I tolerated it. The screaming, the beatings, all of it. And I got stronger for it, learned how to defend myself.” She grinned a feral grin. “Obviously it’s come in handy lately, so thanks for that, I guess,” she said to her father. 

“Then I got word that my sister, for some unidentifiable reason, had been sent all the way to the Kirkwall Tower. And I was  _ livid _ . We got into quite the brawl that night, didn’t we? I think I broke almost every chair in the dining room, until you hit me over the head with the coal shovel from the fireplace. I was a little woozy then, but I managed to slam your face into the mantle a few times. Broke your nose, knocked you out, packed what I could fit in a bag, stole some family heirlooms, and left. You know, I think the only reason he chased me is because of the heirlooms. He really wanted those back.” Sigrid pulled the knife away from his neck a bit, tracing patterns over his adam’s apple with the tip. “And now here we are. And there’s one more lesson for us to learn.”

“You’re right,” her father said, his voice rough and furious. “There is.  _ Love makes you weak _ ,” he growled out. “Break the ox-man’s legs!” he shouted, and one of the man holding Bull stomped down with all his weight on the back of the his calf, where he still kneeled on the cold floor. Sigrid could hear the snap, just before Bull’s roar of pain and fury. Her heart clenched as he toppled forward, but she leaned in closer to her father anyway. 

“Wrong,” she whispered, watching as the two men struggled to contain Bull where he tried to fight them from his broken position on the floor. “Love makes you stronger. You always think the man with the biggest blade and the coldest heart wins. But I’m here to tell you it’s the man with the biggest heart and the blade you never see coming that wins every time.” 

And with that, she jerked her father’s head around so he could watch as Cole materialized behind her father’s pet blood mage and buried both of his long daggers in the man’s back. 


	36. Chapter 36

Cole lowered the mage to the ground slowly, the violent glow of blood magic around him slowly dimming until it went out entirely. Sigrid watched as the bodies on the floor began to take deeper breaths, some of them even stirring and attempting to rise. Whatever blood magic the mage had worked obviously died with him. All of the men and women in Inquisition armor who had been controlled likewise began to become more aware of their surroundings, dropping swords and knives and looking at their own hands in horror. The man who had broken Bull’s leg blinked a few times, then backed away from the furious Qunari in horror. 

“You’ve lost, father. Just like every chess game we ever played, you relied too heavily on your queen and ignored the pawns you deemed useless.” Sigrid still held the knife to her father’s throat, her mouth close behind his ear. 

“You won’t kill me,” her father spat, looking around the room as his plan fell to pieces. “My men will still kill plenty of your people before you can stop them. And you can’t stand to see your people suffer, because you’ve let yourself grow soft and weak. You’re no daughter of mine. You’ll spare me, put me up in some puppet show of a trial, force someone else to execute me and-”

Sigrid pulled her father’s head back even farther, cutting off his words, and whispered in his ear so that only he could hear her. “I was  _ never _ your daughter.” And with that, she slid the knife deeply across his throat, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground to choke on his own blood. 

His men did make an attempt to fight back, and Sigrid and her people didn’t hesitate to cut down every one of them. They lost only one soldier in the process, an older scout who took a blow meant for a young noblewoman. The woman died in Sigrid’s lap, a smile on her face and her fist resting on her breast in salute.

Sigrid laid the woman down gently and rose to her feet, her already heavy dress now even heavier with the weight of the blood soaking its hem. She sank back to the ground next to Bull, who was stretched out on the floor, grimacing and grumbling while Solas and another healer tended to his leg. She leaned down to press a kiss to his clammy forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop this,” she said softly, her hands soft against his chest. 

“ _ Kadan _ , no.” He grabbed both of her smaller hands in one of his, rubbing her fingers to try and restore some warmth. “You did what you had to.” He smiled up at her, strained as his face was. “I love you, Siggy.”

“I love you, too, Bull.” She kissed him once more before standing up to continue being the Inquisitor she’d never be able to stop being. 

~~~

Sigrid was still wearing her blood-soaked dress, though the great hall was already nearly clean, hours after the magical barrier had been brought down and the bodies of her father and his comrades hauled out. She lowered herself slowly to the ground, crossing her legs and arranging the folds of her dress over her knees. Across from her sat Cole, still sitting where the mage he’d killed had fallen. “Are you alright, Cole?” she asked, peering under the shadowed edge of the young man’s hat. 

“Yes, I think so,” he replied. “He was a very bad man.”

“Yes,” Sigrid echoed. She wasn’t sure who Cole was talking about, but she wasn’t sure it mattered.

“Are  _ you _ okay?” Cole asked her, looking at her in that piercing manner he had. 

Sigrid opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again. She wasn’t sure how best to answer that. Did she regret what she’d done? No. But would she ever truly be able to accept it? She wasn’t sure yet. 

“That’s okay,” Cole said softly. “You made a choice, the choice was right, but you’re not sure if everyone else will agree. But the choice was yours, it was yours to finish, so no one else can tell you if it’s right or wrong. I understand.”

“Thank you, Cole. For, everything. For listening now, and for listening when I asked you to help me earlier. Thank you for doing the things I couldn’t.”

“You’re welcome.” Cole rose to his feet, offering a narrow hand to Sigrid to help her up. She accepted it, standing next to the young man in the early hours of the morning, pale pre-dawn light filtering in through the stained glass and just beginning to color the room. It was a new morning, a new day, and the beginning of something new in Sigrid’s life. 

~~~

There was a deep copper tub full of water waiting in Sigrid’s room when she finally made it up the many stairs. She could smell the oils in the water even before she saw it, heavy curls of steam climbing from the surface. That wasn’t the only thing waiting for her, either. Bull sat in her bed, one leg wrapped in heavy bandages, his discarded brace hung from a hook on the wall. Sigrid walked silently over to him, motioning for him to help her with the myriad buttons on the back of her ruined dress. She sighed in relief as he loosed the last of them at the small of her back, peeling the heavy black fabric off her shoulders and allowing it to puddle on the floor at her feet. She sank to the edge of the bed, wearing only her smallclothes, and looked critically at Bull’s leg. 

“How’s it feel?” 

“Like it was broken a couple hours ago and some mages put it back together.” There were two cats perched on the bed beside him, the fluffy gray kitten Sigrid had claimed that day they’d found kittens in her closet, and the mother, who had become all but inseparable from Bull. He shifted them over gently to make more room for Sigrid, who curled up against his side. “They say it’ll be good as new with a few more days and a lot more magic. Just no walking on it for the next day or so until they’re sure.”

Sigrid nodded against his side, his arm wrapped tight around her back. 

“ _ Kadan _ , your bath water’s gonna get cold.”

“It’s an enchanted tub, it doesn’t get cold.”

“Hmph. Well then put a chair at the back before you get in.”

“What?”

“Just get in the tub, Siggy.”

She stood, looking at him in confusion. He swung his legs gingerly over the side of the bed, picking up two crutches that looked far too small to support his weight. Sigrid drug the larger of the two chairs from in front of the fire to the tub, placing it at the head. Bull hopped over, his bandaged leg held awkwardly off the floor. He sank into the chair gently, letting the crutches fall to the floor at his side and looked over at Sigrid where she stood disapprovingly, staring pointedly at his leg. “Hush, Siggy. I can’t put any weight on that leg, it doesn’t mean I can’t move at all. Now get in the tub, will you?”

She sighed but did just that, dropping the last of her bloodied clothes on the floor and slipping into the perfumed water with a grateful sigh. She leaned against the sloping wall of the tub in front of Bull and he reached down to massage her neck and shoulders, working away every knot and worry she held. She let out another sigh, relaxing into Bull’s capable hands.

“Talk to me, Siggy,” he said softly, and she tensed once more. 

“I don’t…”

“Just, talk.” It was a command, a note of seriousness in his voice that quelled the rest of her arguments. She still didn’t respond right away, allowing a few more minutes of silence to pass. 

“I don’t regret it,” she began, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Any of it. We lost two people in there, and I let you get your leg broken, but I don’t and won’t ever regret it. I murdered my father, slit his throat and left him to bleed out on the floor of the great hall. I murdered the one man responsible for nearly all the suffering and heartache I’ve experienced in my life. I finally,  _ finally _ have the revenge I always wanted for my sister and mother, and I just feel… done. It’s just done. I’m not any different than I was yesterday, or the day before. It’s just one less threat always hovering over my head. And to think, he was working for Corypheus! It almost makes it seem even less personal, like it’s just one more step in this endless war.” Sigrid turned around in the tub to look at Bull. “I killed my father just a few hours ago, and it doesn’t feel any different than any other time I’ve killed for this war, or before. Is there something wrong with me? I should feel…  _ something _ !”

Bull shook his head as he reached out to grip her shoulders. “ _ Kadan _ . Look at me. There is nothing wrong with you. You did the right thing today, you did all the right things. That man was your father in name only. Any other connection you had to him was broken a long time ago. What you did today was lead an agent of Corypheus and a violent blood mage into a trap that would rival anything the Ben-Hassrath could throw together. And you came out on top.” Bull leaned in and kissed her, cupping her water dampened face in both hands. “We can talk to Leliana about all of this tomorrow. For now, let’s go to bed.”

Sigrid laughed softly into his hands. “Why? Because now you’re thinking about me being on top?”

“You know me so well, _ kadan _ .”


	37. Chapter 37

The polite but insistent knock on the heavy wooden door echoed through Sigrid’s rooms. 

“Go  _ away _ ,” she grumbled, rolling over and tucking herself close against Bull’s side. The perpetually warm Qunari chuckled softly and wrapped an arm around her, which did nothing to encourage the reluctant and tired Inquisitor to leave her bed. “Come back in an hour.” 

The sound of a resigned sigh could just barely be heard, followed by footsteps retreating down the wooden stairs. Sigrid smiled happily to herself, still surrounded by Bull’s warmth. Then she remembered why she was being summoned, and much of her warmth and happiness drained away. “Ugh, shit,” she mumbled, trying to free herself from Bull’s grip and the blankets tangled between them. “I need to… I’ve got to get…  _ Fuck _ these blankets and-  _ oof _ .” She collided with Bull’s chest, both of his arms suddenly wrapped around her and pinning her to him. She struggled a bit more, though with slightly less enthusiasm. “I need to get up, I need to talk to everyone, see what they-”

“Siggy, shut up.”

“Excuse me.”

“I mean it. Just stop, take a deep breath, and relax for a minute.” He ran his hands up and down her back, tracing the hard lines of muscles and the ragged lines of scars. There were very few things about Sigrid Trevelyan that could be described as “soft”, but lying on top of him like this, all silken skin and warm curves, there was a gentleness to her. She was relaxed, for a moment focused on nothing more than the feeling of his hands on her, the ever-present tension in her body briefly forgotten. 

“Bull,” she said, her voice resigned. 

“How long will it take you to get ready?”

“What?”

“You don’t have much hair, you never spend more than thirty seconds choosing the cleanest clothes out of that pile you call a wardrobe, and you have an uncanny ability to put your boots on while walking down stairs. So how long do you really need to get ready? Five minutes?” He shifted his hands lower, cupping them around the backs of her thighs and pulling her up so that she was straddling his waist. “I think we can spare an extra few minutes, hm?”

Sigrid smiled slowly, running her fingernails up the back of Bull’s head until she could wrap her hands around the base of his horns. “I suppose we could do that,” she replied. “Though with that leg still out of commission, I’m thinking I’ll be in charge again?”

“Only if you want to be. I know how to run the show from down here too, you know.”

“Oh no,” Sigrid said, chuckling roughly. “It’s my turn.”

There wasn’t an inch of the enormous, scarred Qunari that Sigrid didn’t know as well as the back of her own hand. But that didn’t stop her from taking a moment to reacquaint herself with a few of her favorites. 

~~~

“Good morning, Inquisitor.” Leliana was waiting for Sigrid just outside the doors to the War Room, a small sheaf of papers held in one hand. She offered them to Sigrid, who accepted the bundle of parchment with reservation and without even looking at the precise, dense writing scrawled across them. 

“It’s certainly a morning, Leliana. Whether or not it’s a good one remains to be seen.” She shouldered through the door, approaching the immense table where her advisors already waited. “What do we know?”

“We know that we have a lot of explaining to do to the noble families of Ostwick,” Josephine muttered in an uncharacteristically sarcastic tone. “They are going to be quite concerned when a number of their most prominent members fail to return from their sudden visit to our halls.”

“Tell them that their loved ones were working for a darkspawn magister intent on destroying all of Thedas,” Sigrid suggested, sinking lazily into her chair at the table. “Then they won’t be as shocked when we tell them that those same loved ones are now dead. Oh, also? Are we sending the corpses back or are we burying them here?”

“I believe that will be up to the families involved,” Leliana offered.

“Fantastic. So we’ll have to keep rotting traitors stored somewhere in my castle until their families decide what they want to do with them.”

“Actually…” Josephine began, but Sigrid cut her off with a wave of her hand.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t care. There’s no one else left to decide what we do with it, and I couldn’t care less. Just throw him over the waterfall. He’ll likely float most of the way back home.”

Her advisors wisely chose to ignore that statement. 

“Well now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Leliana interjected, plucking the neglected sheaf of parchment out of Sigrid’s fingertips. “It appears Bann Trevelyan and his accomplices were sent here on orders from another of Corypheus’ lieutenants, by the name of Samson.”

“Why haven’t we heard about this Samson before now?” Sigrid asked, idly toying with one of the heavy iron markers off the table. 

“Likely because Corypheus heavily favored Calpernia and her methods. But after your confrontation with her at the Well of Sorrows, she seems to have disappeared. Likely back to Tevinter, but it will be hard to know for sure. So now Samson appears to be orchestrating plans to bring down the Inquisition on behalf of his master.”

“How nice of him.” Sigrid was now juggling three markers, two iron and one bronze. 

“Indeed,” Leliana murmured, watching Sigrid smoothly juggle the heavy metal markers. “Thankfully, his success rate appears to be rather low.”

Cullen finally spoke, his voice hesitant but growing in confidence as his words flowed. “I… knew this man, this Samson. He also was a templar once, and we often crossed paths during our training. During my time in Kirkwall he was a… shadowy figure… to say the least. Perhaps, perhaps I could lure him out of Corypheus’ ranks, and could assemble a team to apprehend him, bring him back here, try to break Corypheus’ hold on him. He was… a friend, and I don’t wish to see him suffer needlessly or to die for a cause such as this.” Cullen’s voice faded out, and Sigrid allowed her hands to still, looking at the Commander curiously. 

“That was perhaps the longest string of words I’ve ever heard you utter, Cullen,” she said, teasing him good-naturedly. “But yes, I think that sounds like a reasonable plan. Do what you feel is necessary. I trust your judgement.” He nodded and stepped back, his eyes already distant and thoughtful. Sigrid continued mindlessly juggling the markers that had moments ago marked their troop positions in the Arbor Wilds, frowning at the arc they made over her hands. “What now?” she finally asked, looking up at her advisors.

“Morrigan believes that she knows how to defeat Corypheus’ pet dragon,” Leliana began,  “And insists that to do so the two of you need to travel to a shrine to Mythal located somewhere in the Arbor Wilds.”

Sigrid groaned, contorting her face in a matching grimace. “I  _ really _ don’t want to go back to the Arbor Wilds…”

“I don’t think Morrigan is going to care very much for your preferences, Sigrid.” Leliana deftly plucked two of the map markers out of the air over Sigrid’s hands, leaving her holding only a single iron piece. “I would recommend you go talk to her yourself and make plans for your departure.”

 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me an age, two beta readers, and one weird night where both of them read it in a bar as I was writing it from 100 miles away.  
> Thanks to those beta readers, by the way. You know who you are, and how much I love your *ahem* ..."hard work"...
> 
> EDIT: I've been chastised for not mentioning them by name. AlyssaMilitia and BurntCoast, here you go, now stop complaining.

Sigrid was leaning heavily over the war table, her elbows locked and her weight resting heavily on her hands. The location of the shrine in the Arbor Wilds where Morrigan was insisting on dragging her was marked on the map beneath her hands. Sigrid was less than enthused. The combination of the witch’s suggestions and the thought of an abandoned elven shrine really set her teeth on edge.

She was still staring intently down at the detailed map laid out beneath her when the enormous doors swung open with a crash. Her hand was on the dagger at her waist before her eyes ever made their way to the figure careening through the heavy wooden doors.

“ _Siggy!”_ There was an undeniable note of urgency in Bull’s voice as he shouldered through the doors. “We need to leave. _Now_. “

Sigrid was moving towards him before she even realized she’d taken a single step. “What happened?” she asked, following him as he dashed down the hallway. “Where are we going?”

“I’ll tell you on the way. Just follow.”

And Sigrid did just that. dashing along behind Bull, passing a myriad of shocked faces as they sprinted down hallways and around corners, until they skidded to a halt in front of the glowing Eluvian.

“What the fuck, Bull,” Sigrid’s voice wasn’t questioning. “What is this.”

Bull stepped around to cup Sigrid’s face in both hands, tilting it up so she could look into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do, you giant asshole. But you’re going to have to tell me why I thought there was some sort of emergency, only to find myself in front of this fucking magic mirror again.”

“If you trusted me, you wouldn’t have to ask. Just trust that I’m taking you somewhere important.”

Sigrid narrowed her eyes, staring up at the tall Qunari. “ _Fine_. Fine,” she muttered, looking back into the blue glow of the Eluvian. “Do I need anything?”

“Just yourself, _kadan_.”

“Great,” she muttered, looking at the mirror with vague distaste. “You know I have things to do, right? Important things. Like stopping a darkspawn magister.”

“I know. But I also know you need a break once in a while. Just _trust me_ , Siggy.” Bull wrapped one of his large hands around hers and stepped into the blue glow of the Eluvian. As always, it felt like stepping through a waterfall, the cool magic washing over her skin like wind and rain. Sigrid always instinctively closed her eyes when traveling by Eluvian. She was a warrior, the kind of woman who trusted her blade more than she ever trusted magic or enchantment. So when she opened them, the shock was genuine.

“Bull, what the actual fuck.” Sigrid was looking around in a manner that could have been described as horror. They stood inside what appeared to be little more than a hovel, mud and brick walls lit by the blue glow of the Eluvian they’d just exited. “Where the hell are we?”

Bull chose not to respond, instead grasping her hand and leading her to the door of the hovel. If Sigrid thought she was shocked before, what she saw when stepped out of the front door rendered her entirely speechless.

“Recognize it?” Bull asked, running his thumb across the back of Sigrid’s hand.

“Are we where I think we are?” He voice was quiet and laced with an undeniable thread of fury.

Bull leaned in even closer, wrapping one muscled arm around her waist. “Where do you think we are?” he whispered in her ear.

“Did you bring me to _Kirkwall_ ?” Sigrid’s voice rose an octave. “Of all the places you could have dragged me to, you chose this Maker-forsaken swath of land?” Sigrid was shaking her head, staring at the ribbon-wrapped tree that stood before the door to the hovel in which they’d arrived. “And on top of that, you brought me to the _alienage?_ ”

Bull sighed, leading Sigrid out of the elven alienage. “It just happened to be the location of the only known Eluvian in Kirkwall. Morrigan managed to get one working again, just for this.”

“Just for _what_ ?” Sigrid shouted at him, pulling out of his grip. There were few people in the streets just outside of the alienage, but the few who were there stared curiously at the irate woman yelling up into the impassive face of an enormous Qunari. “What _possible_ reason would you have for bringing me back here? A trip down memory lane? _‘Oh look, here’s the corner where you were almost blinded by a teenager. And over there is the ruins of the Circle tower where you found your sister’s corpse_.’ Somehow I don’t think you really thought this one through, Bull.” Sigrid turned and stomped down the street, heading nowhere in particular. She could smell the brine of the ocean mixed with the perpetual smell of dirt and piss that filled the streets on this side of the city. It reminded her of times she would rather have left forgotten.

Sigrid let her feet lead her, leaving her mind to wander. She knew Bull was following even though she never caught a glimpse of him, and for that she was quietly thankful. Thankful for both the fact that he silently followed, and the fact that he was wise enough not cross her irate gaze. If she saw him right now Sigrid wasn’t sure what she’d do, but she was reasonably sure that it wouldn’t be anything pleasant.

The grit and dirt of the alienage and slums eventually became the more even paving stones of HIghtown, and Sigrid suddenly found herself standing in a nearly-abandoned square, the late evening light steadily disappearing behind the tops of the ornate houses that surrounded her. Sigrid narrowed her eyes and looked around. Sure enough, there behind another stately mansion, peeked the Hawke estate. She found herself wondering how the Champion was faring at Weisshaupt, and made a mental note to track down the elusive woman once she was done with Corypheus.

“Assuming I don’t die unpleasantly before then…” she muttered to herself as she made her way out of the square once more.

~~~

Bull found her sitting on a bench beneath the shadow of the rebuilt Kirkwall chantry. It looked much the same as the old one had, towering and imposing and very, very white. Though now it had significantly more security. He sat silently by her side, ignoring the curious glances of the few others in the square, mostly chantry members leaving the building for the evening. The last traces of light had faded out of the sky by the time Sigrid spoke.

“Why am I here, Bull?”

“Remember where we first met?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I know. But do you remember it?”

“Of course I remember that shitty little tavern in Lowtown. I did a lot of business in that tavern.”

“Tell me again why you were there.”

“Why- Bull, you already know-”

“I’m not the one who needs to hear it.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Bull chuckled, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard that before. Now tell me a story.”

Sigrid sighed, rubbing her palms over her face. Finally she looked over at him. “I’m still angry with you for bringing me here.”

“I know.”

“But I’m going to make the best of it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. So here’s what you’re going to do.”

~~~

She’d promised him a ten minute head start. So Bull made the most of it, draining one tankard of dark ale and ordering a second from the disinterested barkeep before he procured an empty table in a back corner of the dark, noisy tavern. He threw threatening glares at any patrons who dared to look at the hulking Qunari twice, keeping them all at bay.

So his view was clear when the door to the tavern flew open and _she_ strode in, drawing the gaze of nearly every other person in the room and bringing a hush to the near-constant noise. No one here recognized her as the Inquisitor, not in this context. Here, she looked every inch the mercenary she was before her fateful visit to the conclave. A pair of dark gloves she’d picked up somewhere along her way hid the vague green glow of her hand, and with a few more buttons of her dark red blouse undone and a heavy belt full of knives slung low around her hips, she entered the Lowtown tavern on wave of danger and seduction.

Bull’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, flashing back on the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Sigrid Trevelyan, looking very much the same as she did right now. He and every other man (and more than one woman) in the room had been captivated by her, their eyes following the straight line she cut from the door to the bar, hoping beyond hope that the mysterious woman would maybe, just maybe, notice _them_. But this time, Bull knew exactly how things would play out.

He watched as Sigrid retraced her steps from so many years ago, ordering two glasses of a straight amber liquor and draining one of them smoothly. She turned with the second and looked straight at him, just as she had the first time. Bull knew now that Sigrid had spotted him the second she’d walked through the door and had marked him as her conquest on that fateful night. Not a single other hopeful in the bar had stood a chance once she’d set her sights on him. A fact for which Bull would always be eternally grateful.

She sauntered over to him, her second glass held lightly in one gloved hand. Between her scandalously exposed breasts hung the large glittering sapphire that she wore so often, another trophy of her past that fit so strangely into the charade they were now acting out. She approached his table but didn’t sit, just placed her glass on the table and leaned over it, offering Bull an unobstructed view straight down the front of her shirt. He allowed a slow smile to break across his face as his gaze shamelessly raked her entire body.

“You here for work or pleasure?” he asked, taking a slow sip of his ale.

“Both, if you’re lucky,” she responded, still not taking the seat that Bull pushed out with his foot beneath the table.

“You don’t look like the kind of woman who needs help getting a job done. What kind of business needs are you looking to fulfill?” Bull kept his voice neutral, repeating the words he’d spoken at their first meeting, while he continued to grin and stare shamelessly at Sigrid’s cleavage.

Sigrid shrugged, running one finger around the rim of her glass while staring straight at him, her gaze clear and confident. “I simply need someone to make sure a caravan never makes it to its intended destination, but I can’t be seen anywhere near it. I heard rumor of a Qunari who led a band of mercenaries that might be willing to take on that sort of job.”

Bull leaned back, narrowing his eyes at her. He remembered that job well. It had been one of the most profitable for him and his boys, and the woman who’d given it to them hadn’t even wanted a cut of what they’d taken. In fact, he hadn’t been able to find her anywhere in the city when they’d returned.

“And what will we get out of this job if we take it?”

“Whatever you can carry. Burn anything you can’t.”

“This sounds personal.”

“It is.” Her voice brooked no argument, and Bull didn’t pursue it. Back then, he’d had to consciously stifle his instinct to push and question, but now he knew the story and there was no reason to ask any more. When he’d first taken the job, she’d slid him a piece of parchment with her neat, precise handwriting on it, outlining the best place to ambush the caravan, exactly how many guards there would be, a rough approximation of the contents they would discover. It had been a perfectly laid out plan, one that he and his boys had been able to execute exactly as she’d intended. It was a plan that held all the signs of her being an excellent mercenary captain herself. When Bull had returned to try to offer her a cut, he’d also returned with the hope of recruiting her to join his own band. Bull had wondered many times what would have become of the two of them if he had succeeded in tracking her down.

But tonight, back in the present, Sigrid merely picked up her glass and emptied it in one smooth motion, setting it back on the table upside down with an echoing snap, signaling the next phase of their charade. “Now that you’ve gotten a taste of my business preferences, care to discuss some pleasure?”

Bull’s rumbling chuckle could be felt in the heavy wood of the table where Sigrid still leaned. She didn’t offer him the chance to respond, instead turning away and sauntering towards the back door of the tavern. Bull emptied the last of his ale and tossed a few coins on the table before he followed, ignoring every jealous glare that followed him out of the room.

They made it as far as the entrance to the dark alley that the back door had spit them out into before Bull pressed her against the rough brick wall. He caught both her wrists in one hand and pinned them to the wall over her head, leaning in to kiss her with ravenous intensity. Sigrid responded by shifting her hands in his grip slightly until she could grip the sides of his hands, then pulled herself up to wrap both of her legs around his waist. It was a move that required a not-insignificant amount of strength and never ceased to impress Bull.

Sigrid chuckled against the insistent press of his lips and used her legs to pull Bull’s hips tighter against her own, grinding into the warmth of his growing erection. “This isn’t quite how things went the first time,” she said quietly, drawing back for a moment. There was mirth in her eyes, much of her earlier anger forgotten as they revisited some of her more positive memories of this filthy city.

“No, but it’s pretty nice as far as distractions go, _kadan_.” Bull slipped one hand up the back of her shirt, running a rough hand over her warm skin. Sigrid hummed her delight, arching her back to press herself against him. “But are we going to finish this properly, or did you want to do this right here?”

Sigrid sighed in mock disappointment, unwrapping her legs from his waist and letting herself sink to the ground. Bull loosened his grip on her hands and she slipped free, straightening her clothes as she headed out of the dark alley into the equally dark streets. Bull followed close behind her, brushing his hands over every bit of her he could touch, her shoulders, back, a sweeping graze up the curve of her ass. Sigrid just continued to saunter frustratingly slowly through the streets of Lowtown, managing to avoid detection by the numerous gangs who roamed the streets at night. Before they realized it, they had approached the immense Chantry from the side, the towering building no less imposing in the darkness.

Bull remembered this well, and followed as Sigrid led him to a small side door. The building was largely unoccupied at such a late hour, the only people still inside those who lived within the white-walled confines. But the main Chantry hall, their destination, would be empty and lit with nothing more than the burnt-down nubs of candles left from the daylight hours that had long since passed. They shut the door carefully behind them, walking soundlessly through the narrow servant’s halls until they stepped suddenly into the cavernous emptiness of the hall. It had changed only slightly during its reconstruction, many of the same features faithfully rebuilt in the years since an apostate had blown it to bits.

Bull swept Sigrid off her feet, carrying her with her hips locked against his waist towards the row of dark confessionals that lined one wall. There was a brief moment of laughter and struggling as Bull navigated his horns into the narrow space, pushing aside the heavy curtain that separated the parishioners from the sisters who listened to the sins they came to confess.

Sigrid’s breath was heavy against his skin, her fingers wrapped tightly in the straps of his harness, her legs still locked around his waist. She could feel now the insistent heat of the erection beneath his loose trousers, and loosened the grip of her legs slightly to slide down, her hips thrusting up and against his. Bull growled at her, a wordless, mindless noise as he pushed her against the stone wall of the back of the narrow cubicle. He produced a length of rope out of a pocket or pouch he’d hidden somewhere and with quick, practiced movements bound Sigrid’s hands together and stretched them over her head, tying the free end of the rope to one of the upper supports of the thin wooden room.

He stepped back, freeing himself from the grip of Sigrid’s legs. Her toes just barely brushed the floor, much of her weight suspended from the rope that wrapped around her forearms. Her gaze was dark and inviting, full of sultry promise and the ever-present threat of danger that Sigrid could never quite suppress. Bull stepped forward once more, pulling the heavy belt of weapons off her hips and allowing them to hit the floor with a metallic thunk.

“Careful with those,” Sigrid chastised half-heartedly. “I just bought most of them off a very shady salesman in Lowtown.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bull replied, going to work on the buckles and laces at the waistband of her pants. “Now, less talking.”

“Excuse me.”

“Do you want us to get caught?” he asked quietly, slipping a hand down the front of her pants and pushing her smalls aside to run one finger along her warm clit. Sigrid drew in a sharp breath as he did, his hand taking up an insistent motion.

“Maybe,” Sigrid breathed, tensing under his touch. Bull’s free hand had begun loosening the buttons of her shirt, pushing it open and palming her breasts through the thin band that bound them. “Imagine the horror, a Qunari in the Chantry, fucking the Herald of Andraste.”

Bull chuckled again, finally letting her breast band fall to the floor. The delicate gold rings that pierced each nipple glinted dully in the dim light that filtered into the room, and Bull leaned down to pull one into his mouth, teasing it gently with his teeth. He could both hear and feel Sigrid’s sharp intake of breath, and moved his attentions to the opposite side, not offering her a chance to catch her breath.

Sigrid was a woman to whom the tangible was of utmost importance. Things she could lay her hands on, anchor herself to, those were the things she valued. Religion, magic, those were the purviews of people who could grasp the intangible. Sigrid was most comfortable when she could feel the hewn, oiled haft of an axe in her hands. So to be denied the pleasure of touch was a particularly cruel punishment. She always instinctively fought it at the beginning, her arms straining against the ropes in her desire to wrap a possessive hand around the back of Bull’s neck as he mercilessly teased at her breasts. But the ropes wrapped around her arms left her wanting. Left her exactly where Bull wanted her.

She felt the sudden absence of his hand between her legs keenly, letting out the quietest and most desperate of moans. They both returned quickly however, digging into the waistband of her pants to drag them down over her hips. Sigrid released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as she was exposed to the humid, breath-steamed air around them. Bull’s hands were precise but soft as he slipped off her boots and pulled her pants down to fall to the floor with the rest of her discarded clothing. But as soon as she was freed from everything except the shirt still trapped around her shoulders, Bull’s movements increased in intensity.

His hands slipped under her hips, cupping her ass to pull her up to once more wrap her legs around his hips. Sigrid breathed a sigh of relief as some of the strain was lifted off her arms, a sigh that swiftly turned into a moan as Bull thrust upwards, grinding his cloth-bound erection against her mercilessly. But then, without warning, his hand reached for her again, a single finger sinking in past her wet folds, curling within her as she sucked in a ragged breath. His hand took up a punishing pace, bringing her to the edge so quickly. A desperate, high-pitched moan echoed from her throat, and just as quickly Bull placed a firm hand over her mouth.

“Shhh…” he murmured quietly, his hand shifting to cup her jaw in his large, rough palm. “Don’t want anyone to hear us now…” Sigrid simply pressed her lips together, glared at him, and let a long, shaking breath out her nose, Bull’s hand never decreasing in its pace, only adding a second finger to the first. She leaned her head back, Bull’s fingers still pressed to her mouth, as her entire body began to tremble. And just as quickly, he pulled away again. Sigrid let out a frustrated sigh, her legs falling away from his hips as he stepped back. Her eyes were shut tightly, the tension in her body inescapable. She could hear the sound of Bull’s own clothing falling to the floor, and then could feel his hands brushing their way up her legs tantalizingly slowly. He lifted her legs again and she felt them settle back down atop his horns, her knees hooked over their rough surface and her legs spread and exposed to Bull’s hot breath, mere inches away from her sensitive core.

“Don’t come until I tell you to,” Bull murmured, his lips a mere breath away from her flesh. And with that admonishment, he closed the distance, his tongue laving against her swollen clit.

Sigrid’s entire body shook, trying to hold back the orgasm that was building within her. Her legs tightened against his horns, holding his head in place as he continued his attentions, dragging the tip of his tongue down to flick inside of her, his teeth making their way back up to nip ever so gently at her clit, bringing her to the precipice edge of her climax. One of his hands reached up to tease at her nipples again. Her hips shook with the release she was withholding, matching every thrust of his tongue against her sensitive slit.

“Please…” she breathed into his hand. “Please, Bull…”

“Begging already?” he asked, looking up at her from between her legs. “I love it when I can make you beg.”

Sigrid gave up on words, instead moaning once more into his muffling palm as he continued the merciless movements of his tongue and teeth.

“Now,” he breathed, barely more than a whisper that Sigrid felt rather than heard. And with that simple command, she released the tension building in her body, Bull’s hand still wrapped over her mouth to stifle her cries of release. Even as she breathed in the smell of herself that clung to his skin, still wracked with the tremors of her own climax, Bull lowered her back down to his hips, his erection brushing against her over-stimulated core. She gasped again, her body not even finished with her first orgasm as Bull began dragging her into a second, teasing her opening with the head of his cock, brushing it back and forth over her tingling folds.

Just when Sigrid thought she might have regained control of her trembling limbs, Bull thrust into her, drawing a soundless cry from her lips. He wasted no time in setting a punishing pace, her arms suspended over her head and the rest of her body at his mercy. He thrust into her again and again, little of his earlier tenderness in his movements. Sigrid began to tip over the edge once more, her cries stifled by the hand over her mouth. But still he didn’t relent. There was no tenderness in his movements, rather an animalistic persistence, his thrusts deep and merciless. Sigrid’s cries turned from pleasure to desperation, so close to the edge that she couldn’t stop the trembling that shook every inch of her body.

And when she was sure she couldn’t take any more, his thumb came to rest on her clit and circled gently, the sensitive bundle of nerves alight with her ecstasy.  And with that simple movement, Sigrid broke, shamelessly crying out into Bull’s restraining palm. His thrusts slowed slightly, falling into an irregular rhythm as he too finished, buried deep within her.

It was with a satiated slowness that he slipped free, loosing the bonds that still suspended Sigrid and allowing her to fall into his arms.

“Hey, _kadan_ ,” he said softly, cradling her to his warm, bare chest.

“Hm?” she replied, looking up at him through glazed but satisfied eyes.

“You alright?”

She laughed lightly, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down for a lingering kiss. “Yeah, I’m great,” she whispered. “Now carry me out of here before we scandalize some innocent Chantry sister.”

“Can do, Boss.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you want to listen to some of what I typically listen to while writing this, here's a playlist of songs that I've come across and thought "These reminds me of [insert part of this story]". It's a pretty eclectic mix, to be honest.  
> https://play.spotify.com/user/129322983/playlist/14GHdOM7rCuhENKPC4V0ii  
> Curious about why I picked something? Feel free to ask me here, or on tumblr at redheaded-renegade.tumblr.com


	39. Chapter 39

****“We will need to proceed alone, Inquisitor.”

“Like hell,” Sigrid responded, peering suspiciously into the overgrown ruins of the shrine to Mythal.

“This is something we must do with just you and I. If any trouble arises, your companions will not be close enough to provide aid, will they not?” Morrigan folded her arms over her chest in defiance, doing her best to stare down the taller Sigrid.

“Close enough to hear us screaming and dying in some ancient elven trap probably,” Sigrid muttered darkly, running a frustrated hand through her short hair. “Ugh. _Fine_.”

“I don’t like it, Boss.” Bull interrupted, accompanied by a belligerent head shake from Sera and a suspicious glare from Dorian. “I don’t trust her, or the voices whispering in her head. Usually whispering voices in people’s heads is a _bad_ thing.”

“I don’t trust her either, but just this once I’ll assume she’s not leading me to my death.” Sigrid patted him once on the arm and stepped forward, leaving her companions grumbling unhappily behind her.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Morrigan offered as they set out.

“Don’t thank me yet. This may still all go to shit. Most other things do when I get involved.” They walked across the immense, round clearing, approaching the crumbling statue at the far side. “So, remind me again. You think that by summoning Mythal, a dead elven goddess, you’ll somehow be able to beat Corypheus’ lyrium-powered dragon?”

“Yes, that is more or less what I hope.”

“Not gonna lie, witch, that sounds pretty hard to believe. Mainly the ‘summon the dead goddess’ part. I think that’s where I get lost.”

“I hope your fears will be unfounded. I am certain that this is where we must be.” Morrigan drew close to the statue, staring up at it with a mixture of reverence and hopefulness.

Sigrid paid little attention to the summoning ritual itself, noting idly that it seemed to require a lot of grandstanding and loudly proclaimed declarations of fealty. So it was with little surprise that she allowed a small smirk to creep across her face after several minutes of unanswered silence greeted the end of Morrigan’s intonation.

“Well, so much for raising ancient elven goddesses from their graves, I guess,” she said, no small amount of satisfaction in her voice. Even if they hadn’t been able to find a way to defeat the dragon, witnessing Morrigan’s disappointment was reward enough. “So, can we go back now? There’s a flask of Mackay’s single malt waiting for me at camp.”

“I suppose you’re enjoying yourself,” Morrigan muttered, sparing a glare for Sigrid’s retreating back.

“Absolutely,” she snapped back. “Now let’s-”

“Leaving so soon?” a voice called from behind them, it’s tone so laden with sweetness it made Sigrid’s teeth hurt. She spun around, axe drawn, and was greeted by the sight of a woman standing on the flat platform of the altar. It wasn’t until she had advanced a step forward that she realized that Morrigan was still rooted in place, not even facing their visitor.

“ _Mother_ ,” she breathed, her own voice laced with venom and loathing. “Why is it that you are always involved, Mother?” she asked, turning slowly to face the woman on the altar.

“The greatest events in the history of Thedas? I woudn’t miss this.”

“This is your _mother_ ?” Sigrid asked, gesturing between Morrigan and the woman at the altar. She let her axe drop, staring incredulously at them. “Seriously. _Everything_ goes to shit when I get involved.”

“She is a _liar_ and a _witch_!” Morrigan shouted, moving to attack her mother, her hands glowing with power.

“Oh no, let’s not be having any of that,” her mother chastised, waving a hand and dismissing Morrigan’s attack.

“What… What have you done to me?” Morrigan asked, staring down at her own hands in horror.

“What have _I_ done?” she asked in return. “You are the one who summoned me.”

Sigrid and Morrigan stared at each other in a moment of confused shock, one of the few moments in their relationship where they ever found themselves in agreement on anything. “Then,” Sigrid began, looking back at the woman. “You are Mythal?”

“I have been called many things. Some of them,” she looked at Morrigan, “less polite than others. But you may call me Flemeth.”

“How is this possible?” Morrigan asked, stepping closer to the altar. “How are _you_ Mythal?”

Sigrid simply stood, shaking her head, as Flemeth told her tale. Morrigan became increasingly more incredulous, staring at her mother with a glassy, disbelieving gaze. She resheathed her axe before stepping forward to join them. “But here’s the thing,” she interrupted. “We came all this way because the voices in Morrigan’s head told her that if we came here, she could uncover some great secret to how to defeat Corypheus’ dragon. Are we going to get that or no? Because if not, I’m just going to leave and let you two finish this incredibly awkward family reunion on your own.”

The two women looked at her, and Flemeth grinned. “Morrigan was correct. I can offer you the secret of how to defeat the dragon.” She turned back to her daughter and raised one hand. Sigrid watched with a warrior’s disinterest as arcane knowledge was transferred from the elven goddess inhabiting the body of a witch to the witch who possessed the knowledge of a millennia of servants of the same elven goddess. “Do you understand, child?”

Morrigan’s eyes were closed, her face penseive as she processed whatever it was she had just learned. Finally here eyes opened, alight with new understanding. “Yes. I do.”

Flemeth nodded serenely, stepping away from them. She made it a short distance before Morrigan lunged forward, calling out to her. “Wait!” she exclaimed, throwing out a hand. Her mother turned slowly to look at her daughter, one eyebrow raised in question. “Why?” Morrigan asked. “Why do all this, after everything…”

Flemeth shook her head slowly. “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in any danger from me.” And with that, she disappeared in a gentle plume of smoke, leaving behind a smell that evoked both new growth and bitter, steel-tinged death.

“Well,” Sigrid sighed, after whistling for everyone else to join them. “That definitely did not go the way I expected it to.”

Morrigan was still standing motionless, staring at the place where he mother had stood moments before. “Truthfully, Inquisitor, I do not know.”

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: I'm sorry it's been so long.  
> Second: Working two jobs is a bitch. I don't recommend it.  
> Third: I'm working on end-game right now, which is understandably taking me a bit longer than other parts of this story.
> 
> So, all that being said, have this. It doesn't necessarily fit exactly in the currect sequence of events, but it's a fun little one-shot of Sigrid and Bull to keep you sated until I finally get my shit together and finish the next *real* chapter. 
> 
> And as always, thanks for being the best readers an author could ask for.

****“This was one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had!” Sigrid shouted over the din, pulling her axe blade out of the rapidly-dissolving body of a demon.

“What do you mean, Boss? This is _fun_!” Bull was clearing a swath through the demons with his own axe, eventually coming to meet Sigrid where she now stood in a briefly clear area.  They stood back-to-back, both breathing heavily and looking around the ruins that had minutes before been frozen in time.

“ _Fun_ ?” Sigrid asked incredulously, kicking away a shade that tried to dash forward. “We could have just left the weird time-altering magical staff in the frozen ruins, but you just _had_ to pick it up, because you’re making an _effort_ -” Sigrid hacked down a second charging demon, utilizing another kick to shove its corpse off the edge of her blade. “To make Dorian hate you just a _little. Bit. Less_ !” She punctuated her last words with vicious sweeps of her axe, clearing more room between them and the door that now looked so distant. “ _And_ , on top of that, you had to do it when it was just us out here scouting. ‘ _Yeah Siggy, let’s check out this neat ruin because I have such a hard-on for ancient architecture. It’ll be totally safe.’_ I think that’s roughly what you said, right?”

She couldn’t see Bull’s eye-roll, but she imagined she could feel it. “We’ve been in worse shit than this before, Siggy,” he insisted, cutting down one more demon in the wave.

“Yeah? We walked in and found the Venatori we expected. No big deal. But I did _not_ prepare myself for demon-slaying today. That was not what I had in mind when you asked me if I wanted to go out scouting with you.” Sigrid cut a terror demon in half with a single powerful blow. “Next time, maybe pick somewhere slightly less enchanted and with fewer demons.”

“You do realize that’s going to be a tough request to fill, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, now just clear me a path to the door, will you?”

“Can do, Boss.” Bull tossed one cheerful grin over his shoulder at Sigrid before throwing himself back into the fray, leaving her a perfect trail through the demons in his wake. She followed the incongruous sight of the skull-topped staff strapped to his back and grinned as she cut down any demons who thought to block her path.

~~~

Sigrid had two broken fingers, and Bull a trio of long scratches down one arm, but they had escaped the Still Ruin intact. The both sat, silent and exhausted, on a sand dune a short distance away from the ruin, staring down at it with a mix of relief and distaste.

“Let me look at your arm,” Sigrid finally said, making to stand. But Bull’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“You won’t be wrapping anything with those fingers,” he interjected. “And we’re a couple days ride from the nearest healer. So stay put and let me for once.”

Sigrid looked down at her blue and purple fingers, already swollen and sitting at unnatural angles, and swallowed her arguments. Bull’s hands were precise but gentle, ever so carefully shifting the bones in her fingers until they lined up properly, attentive to her grumbles of pain.

When he was finally done, the sun was sinking close to the horizon. Bull tied off the length of ragged fabric they’d improvised into a splint and peered at the receding sun. “Looks like we’re walking back to camp in the dark, Siggy.”

Sigrid sighed and rose to her feet, frowning in the direction of their small camp. “Well then we should probably get going to so someone can clean out those scratches, since you’ve already managed to fill them with sand.” And with that Sigrid set off over the rolling dunes, headed for the safety and warmth of their collection of tents.

~~~

“You found this?”

“Uh huh.”

“In a ruin in the Western Approach?”

“Yup.”

“And you carried it all the way back here for me?”

“Yup.”

“What did you have to do to get this?” Dorian was running his hands over the polished wood of the staff, the vague aura of menace that radiated off of it completely lost on him. Sigrid was watching, doing her best to keep from snickering.

“Oh, you know. Kill a couple Vints, dodge some demons. The usual.” Bull waved a dismissive hand while Sigrid tried even harder to contain her laughter. “It seemed like just the kind of creepy shit you might like.”

“I would thank you, but you’d likely just ruin it, so I will refrain.”

“You’re welcome.” Bull said dismissively, turning and leaving Dorian still gazing down at the undeniably menacing staff with a look that could only be described as enthusiasm.

“Just had to make it sound so easy, did you?” Sigrid muttered as she rejoined him

“Of course. Can’t have that Vint thinking I did something nice for him. It’d ruin my reputation, Boss.”

“Ah, it’s all so clear now.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a month. Over a month, during which I spent multiple weeks in another country, finishing this fic with pen and paper.   
> Which means, it's finished. We're coming to the conclusion of all this time and work. Thank you all for sticking with me until the bitter end, and I promise that now I won't go so long between chapters as I wrap this all up with just a few more installments.

“Inquisitor, this table is nearly as old as Skyhold itself. May I ask that you stop defacing it?” Josephine asked as politely as she could manage, staring pointedly at the place where Sigrid was scraping with the tip of her knife at a wide gap in the ancient grain of the wood. She met the ambassador’s gaze distractedly, as if she’d only just realized what she was doing with the knife in her hand.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” she muttered, dropping the short blade back into her boot. “So what are we doing about Corypheus? He may be spread thin right now, but so are we.”

“We’re going to call in every favor we have left,” Cullen said defensively, sliding a handful of map markers in various colors and metals towards her. “We bring in what’s left of the Wardens, even though we know they risk corruption. The templars are assembling under Ser Barris as we speak. The Chargers have been recruiting I hear, so Krem has quite the band training together right now as well.”

Sigrid chuckled lightly as the marker that represented Bull’s mercenary group, little more than a shattered fragment of masonry with the phrase “Horns Up” crudely carved into it’s only flat surface. 

Cullen continued, laying out more markers across the map. “Gaspard should arrive in a matter of days with his chevaliers, and Briala will follow immediately behind with her own people.”

“What about our own people?” Sigrid interrupted. “Who can we rely on from those whose only loyalties are to us? Not that I don’t trust our allies, but…”

“No, we understand completely,” Leliana interjected smoothly. “We are assembling every Inquisition agent and soldier we can and sending them this way. Most of them should arrive in the next week.” She pulled a host of golden Inquisition markers from all corners of the map and pushed them towards Sigrid. 

The Inquisitor looked down at the pile of symbols that lay in front of her, inconsequential pieces of metal, wood, and stone that represented some of the strongest military and political forces in Thedas. She began to shuffle them around, using the idle motions to process the decisions she was facing. The blue enamel and pewter griffon that represented the Wardens stood next to the flaming red and bronze of the Templars. Those were flanked by the blue and gold lions of the Chevaliers and the green and brown archers that represented Briala’s elves. Scattered amongst them all were the towering gold sigils of the Inquisition itself, the one element that ties all these disparate powers together. 

Sigrid felt once more the heavy burden of her role as the Inquisitor, the glue that had to endlessly bind together the pieces of such a complex puzzle. She knew that there were only so many moves she could make at this point, only so many ways this could play out. And she knew that no matter which path she chose, there would be death and destruction left in her wake.

She let out a deep sigh, setting down a heavy gold lion with a forceful click. “The Arbor Wilds,” she stated. “We return to the Arbor Wilds and attack before Corypheus can regroup whatever forces he has left. He’s lost most of his men and is camped there while waiting for reinforcements to arrive before he makes his next move, correct? So we get to him first.”

Her advisors nodded their understanding, each rising from their places at the table, just in time to witness the blazing flash of green light that illuminated the sky and the roaring rush of power that reached Skyhold moments later, shaking the windows in their ancient frames. Every man, woman, and child in the mountaintop fortress halted in their tracks to stare into the sky, watching as the Breach tore open once more.

In the silence that followed, Sigrid felt a helplessness like she hadn’t experiences since that last night in Haven. Gone were all their careful plans, every advantage they may have had, and here they were once more facing a moment that called for actions, not plans. She swept up a handful of markers from the table in front of her as her advisors turned as one to look at her, their faces arranged in expressions that ranged from despair to determination. She closed her fist tightly around the sculpted metal, feeling the sharp points of the Inquisition sunburst dig into her palm. 

“Tell everyone to be outside Haven in the next three days,” she instructed, rising from her chair and heading towards the door as she continued to speak. Her advisors followed, Josephine scribbling notes as she did. “Have fresh horses for waiting at the base of the mountain for commanders and leaders of each company, I will expect to meet with them before I arrive in Haven myself. Make sure every mount we have is prepared for scouts and anyone else who will need them to ride between here and Haven until this is all over. Don’t spare them, no matter what Dennet tells you. Offer the nugs and Dracolisks to anyone willing to ride them. Don’t bother with the harts until Briala’s people get here, they’re wasted on anyone who doesn’t know how to properly handle them and I know they’ll be able to utilize them the best.” She threw open the door with a bang then stopped and looked at Leliana. “And when Gaspard inevitably tells you that he couldn’t possibly be here that soon, tell him to look up and imagine all the demons now pouring from that Breach, and assure him that they are nothing compared to what I will do to him if he doesn’t pick up the pace and get his ass here as soon as humanly possible.” With that she left, her face stony and her hands clenched into fists and buried deep in her pockets. 

“This is it,” Leliana murmured. “The end of all these years of work.”

“Let us hope we’re ready.” Josephine added.

“We’ll never be ready,” Cullen finished. “All we can do is use what we do have and hope for the best.”


End file.
